CM37l5t 


G    A 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


TAMING  A 
VAQUERO 


By 
LILLIAN  GIMBLIN  CHESTER 


Press 

&ap=l$tsgtn  Co. 

San  Francisco 
1909 


Copyrighted,  IQOQ 

-By 
LILLIAN  GIMBLIN   CHESTER 


PS 


®o  $(?  $ atfjer 

Gone  before,  but  ever  living  to  me,  to  whom 
I  owe  my  success,  my  aims,  my  aspirations,  this 
book  is  lovingly  dedicated. 

LILLIAN  GIMBLIN  CHESTER. 


877398 


CONTENTS 

Page 

Introduction 1 

She  Meets  Her  Hero  and  Others 4 

He  Is  Antagonistic 7 

Sydney  Shows  Inez  Country 12 

A  Surprise  and  a  Revelation 17 

Her  Mistake  and  Her  Resolve 22 

A  New  Acquaintance 32 

The  Difference  Between  Them 35 

A  Walk  and  What  Came  of  It 41 

Forgive  Me !  I  Love  You ! 47 

She  Goes  Home  to  Tell  Father  Good-Bye 51 

Back  to  Lonesome  Glen 55 

Sydney  Meets  With  an  Accident 61 

They  Speak  Again- 68 

Taking  Up  the  Burden 73 

Van  Proposes  but  Inez  Disposes 76 

Good-Bye,  Lonesome  Glen 79 

Three  Years  Later 82 

"For  Old  Times'  Sake" 85 

Two  Letters  . .  93 


OF  TH? 

{  UNIVERB 

OF 

%4'  ••• 

CHAPTER  I 

INTRODUCTION 

The  sun  beat  down  upon  the  dusty  rolling  hills 
of  northeastern  California  one  Sunday  afternoon 
in  "dry  September."  If  you  did  not  know  this 
part  of  the  fabled  "fairyland,"  California,  you 
would  surely  be  disappointed  at  the  dreary  out- 
look and  fain  seek  a  fairer  portion  of  the  State. 

The  yellow  three-seated  stage  seems  intent 
only  upon  creeping  up  these  hills  and  rattling 
down  on  the  other  side,  there  to  find  before  it 
another.  Process  repeated — there  is  still  another 
ahead  in  monotonous  and  seemingly  never-end- 
ing succession. 

They  seem  monotonous  indeed,  also  never  end- 
ing, to  the  one  lone  passenger  on  board  that  day. 
After  a  frugal  meal  at  a  wayside  inn, — begging 
its  pardon,  hotel  I  mean,  for  the  sign  was  not  so 
weatherbeaten  but  you  could  see  it  was  a  hotel ; 
after  the  meal,  the  miles  seemed  to  lengthen  out 
and  our  fair  passenger  will  always  believe  her 
watch  ran  slowly  that  day. 

Yes,  my  fair  lady  reader,  it  was  a  woman,  or 
stay,  it  was  a  girl, — a  girl  going  out  to  teach 
school  at  Lonesome  Glen.  Have  you  ever  known 
Lonesome  Glen?  Few  have,  save  the  residents 
of  this  dreary  place.  But  here  it  is  where  the 


TAMING    A    VAQUERO 

real  California  cowboys  are  found,  the  "ranchers" 
and  the  herds  of  wild,  wide-horned  cattle. 

Our  heroine  wasn't  a  beauty.  Beauties  are 
rare  in  real  every-day  life  and  among  school- 
teachers. She  was  a  little  above  middle  height, 
without  being  tall,  a  slender  well-built  figure, 
blue-gray  eyes,  fair  complexion  and  soft  curling 
brown  hair  in  which  was  a  touch  of  reddish  gold, 
a  shade  very  rare,  but  which  seemed  peculiarly 
fitting  to  Inez  Hardin.  Also  (but  do  not  breathe 
it)  she  had  a  number  of  freckles  on  her  well- 
shaped  nose  and  upon  her  cheeks,  caused  no 
doubt  by  the  heat  of  the  sun  and  the  dry  wind, 
both  being  disagreeable  in  the  extreme  on  that 
eventful  day. 

But  the  longest  of  journeys  has  an  end  and 
finally  the  accommodating  driver  told  Inez  that 
the  ranch  below  them  was  where  she  would 
"hang  out"  for  the  winter.  While  they  drive 
down  the  long  slope  to  reach  the  spot  where 
Inez'  eyes  are  fixed  let  me  tell  you  more  of  our 
heroine. 

She  was  not  a  city  girl  except  in  natural  ten- 
dency and  education.  Her  home  was  a  country 
one  of  healthy  work  and  play  and  books.  The 
father  and  mother,  blessed  souls,  loved  her  dearly 
and  thought  "our  daughter"  the  best  and  most 
remarkable  girl  in  the  world. 

Her  sisters,  five  in  number,  all  younger  than 

[2] 


INTRODUCTION 

she  and  three  rollicking  brothers  vied  with  each 
other  in  alternately  loving  and  teasing  "Big 
Sister"  nearly  to  death;  its  being  a  dear  delight, 
especially  to  the  boyish  souls,  to  torment  her 
from  her  dreams  and  books  which  constituted 
most  of  life  for  her.  Books  had  been  almost 
her  only  companions  save  for  these  younger  chil- 
dren, as  yet  not  companionable  to  a  scholarly 
"Big  Sister." 

Now  her  school  days  in  grammar  and  normal 
school  past  she  is  beginning  her  career  as  teacher 
at  Lonesome  Glen. 

Not  so  unusual  a  girl,  after  all.  She  didn't 
seem  unusual  to  me.  Rather  shy,  but  quick  at 
fun  and  repartee;  deeply  spiritual  and  earnest, 
also  intensely  human ;  a  combination  of  the  God- 
man  and  the  human,  with  a  plentiful  sprinkling 
of  femininity.  Describe  her,  or  any  of  her  class 
to  me  if  you  can.  I  admit  I  have  failed  to  de- 
scribe her.  How  could  I,  forsooth,  when  I  do 
not  understand  her  myself? 

But  the  stage  is  down  the  slope  now,  going 
around  towards  the  trough  to  water  the  horses. 
We  will  follow  her  still  farther  and  pry  into  her 
life  and  secrets  and  failures  and  victories,  if 
such  they  be,  at  Lonesome  Glen. 


[3 


CHAPTER  II 

SHE   MEETS   HER   HERO  AND  OTHERS 

Lonesome  Glen !  How  lonesome  it  was,  to  be 
sure.  One  big  spreading  house  and  ranch,  ranch, 
ranch  spreading  out  for  aye  and  aye,  it  seemed 
to  our  little  schoolma'am,  who  it  must  be  con- 
fessed, never  felt  so  lonesome  in  her  life,  and 
felt  small  in  spite  of  her  five-feet-six,  when  a 
young  man  of  about  the  "beginning  a  mustache" 
age,  came  out  in  time  to  assist  her  to  alight  and 
raise  his  truly  "cowboy  hat"  when  the  driver 
ceremoniously  introduced  her  as  the  "school- 
ma'am,  sir." 

"Step  into  the  house,  Miss  Hardin,  and  let  me 
introduce  my  mother  to  you.  You  must  be  tired. 
It's  so  disagreeable  this  hot  weather,  traveling 
in  the  old  stage,"  said  this  typical  cowboy,  by 
way  of  politeness  or  as  the  beginning  of  an  ac- 
quaintance. 

"It  is  very  tiresome,"  replied  the  usually  glib 
Miss  Hardin,  "and  so  dusty." 

Into  the  large  waiting  room  or  sitting  room 
they  went  and  his  mother,  a  young  looking 
woman,  surely  not  over  forty-five,  came  in.  "My 
mother,  Mrs.  Wilson,  Miss  Hardin,  our  new 
teacher,  mother,"  introduced  this  very  polite 
young  man,  then  vanished,  having  performed  his 
[4] 


SHE   MEETS  HER  HERO  AND  OTHERS 

duty,  to  attend  to  bringing  in  the  schoolma'am's 
baggage. 

Soon  Mrs.  Wilson  had  Miss  Hardin  in  a  big 
front  bed-room  to  freshen  herself  up  a  bit.  Left 
alone,  thus  soliloquized  Miss  Hardin :  "I'm  so 
afraid  they  wont  like  me.  Mrs.  Wilson  looked 
so  straight  at  me.  She's  nice  and  a  perfect  lady, 
but  mercy !  I  feel  just  as  sure  as  fate  she  will 
never  like  me.  Dear  me !  Why  did  I  ever  come  ? 
I'm  sure  I  never  wanted  to.  It  seems  as  if  I'm 
simply  fated  to  be  miserable.  As  sure  as  fate 
they'll  think  me  a  stuck-up  prig  and  I  don't 
know  what  to  do." 

Poor  girl !  And  she  didn't.  Of  course  she 
didn't.  Would  you?  For  the  first  time  given  a 
public  position  with  so  many  to  please  and  not 
a  single  soul  she  knew  anywhere  near.  No,  she 
didn't  know  what  to  do. 

But  she  did  the  next  best  thing  she  did  know, 
lay  down  after  a  refreshing,  cooling  bath  and 
took  a  nap. 

She  awoke  at  the  sound  of  a  masculine  voice 
singing,  "Away  Down  in  My  Heart  I've  a  Feelin' 
for  You,"  in  soft  melodious  tones  quite  filling 
the  evening  air  down  about  the  corral.  The 
voice  was  good,  but  its  sentiment  irritated  our 
heroine  and  she  said  to  herself,  "He's  rough,  I 
know,  and  full  of  teasing.  I  could  see  it  in  his 
saucy  brown  eyes  as  we  walked  up  from  the  gate. 

[5] 


TAMING    A    VAQUERO 

I  don't  like  him  one  bit  and  I  know  he'll  think 
I'm  simply  a  'game'  and  make  fun  of  me  even 
to  my  face.  I  can't  bear  it,  I  know,"  and  per- 
haps Inez  would  have  cried  but  for  the  fact  that 
she  seldom  so  far  lost  control  of  her  well-regu- 
lated nerves  to  cry;  and  then  came  the  call  to 
supper.  Hurriedly  getting  ready  for  the  meal, 
out  she  came  and  how  she  ever  passed  through 
the  ordeal  no  one  knows. 

It  wasn't  bad,  dear  knows.  She  was  simply 
imaginative  and  sensitive  to  little  pricks  and  had 
prepared  to  hear  or  see  them.  How  foolish  we 
are  sometimes  without  intending  to  be  at  all.  All 
tried  to  make  acquaintance  but  "Miss  Hardin" 
wouldn't  thaw;  only  making  short  polite  replies 
to  all  direct  inquiries;  unconsciously  making 
them  think  just  what  she  didn't  want  them  to 
think,  and  going  to  bed  feeling  that  it  was  all  a 
miserable  failure  anyway. 


[6] 


CHAPTER  III 

HE    IS    ANTAGONISTIC 

Next  morning  our  heroine  felt  better  and  tried 
to  be  more  friendly  at  breakfast  but  found  Mrs. 
Wilson  quiet  and  evidently  cross,  no  doubt  about 
her  household  cares,  but  giving  Inez  the  impres- 
sion that  she  was  at  fault  somehow,  which  didn't 
have  a  tendency  to  make  her  feel  at  ease  or  give 
her  opportunity  to  erase  the  false  impression  of 
the  evening  before. 

For  I  haven't  a  doubt  but  she  could  have  done 
so.  Our  Inez  was  naturally  a  cheerful,  friendly 
little  soul,  kindhearted  and  helpful,  but  exceed- 
ingly sensitive  and  too  self-conscious;  lacking 
the  perfect  confidence  in  her  ability  to  win  people 
by  pure  kindliness. 

So  she  trudged  away  to  school  with  a  some- 
what heavy  heart  and  soon  found  herself  busy 
assigning  and  laying  out  work  for  the  winter. 

Here  was  something  she  could  do  and,  without 
feeling  vain  about  it,  she  knew  she  could  do  well. 

Thus  day  after  day  passed  uneventfully  at 
the  old  brown  schoolhouse.  The  pupils  were  soon 
won  and  her  interest  in  her  school  made  them 
work  with  a  will  at  whatever  they  set  about. 

At  home  her  life  was  not  a  bed  of  roses.  True 
to  her  intuitions,  Mr.  Sydney  Wilson  was  a  tease 
[7] 


TAMING    A    VAQUERO 

and  never  lost  an  opportunity  of  teasing  her 
about  something.  Her  hair,  her  eyes,  her  man- 
ners were  each  brought  under  his  teasing  criti- 
cism, spite  of  Mrs.  Wilson's  frequent  "Sydney, 
Sydney !" 

"Miss  Hardin,  you  mustn't  mind  what  he  says ; 
he's  only  teasing.  He  doesn't  mean  it." 

"Yes,  I  do  mean  it,  Miss  Harding,  I  mean 
Hardin,"  responded  the  incorrigible  Sydney. 

And  so  on  thus:  "Pass  the  potatoes,  please, 
Mrs.  Wilson,"  and  "Thank  you,"  upon  receiving 
them,  from  Miss  Hardin  would  immediately  put 
Mr.  Wilson  in  his  most  polite  mood  and  he 
would  "please"  and  "thank  you"  until  poor  Inez 
wished  that  she  was  a  heathen  if  it  would  mend 
matters;  only,  thought  she  disconsolately,  "He'd 
make  something  out  of  nothing  anyway  and  I 
suppose  I'm  as  well  off  as  I  am." 

Now  do  not  suppose  during  these  sallies  our 
Inez  was  silent;  always  quick  at  repartee  she 
kept  him  busy  with  her  sharp-pointed  retorts  to 
his  bantering. 

But  in  the  privacy  of  her  own  room  Inez  was 
dissatisfied.  "Of  course  I  get  the  best  of  it  some- 
times and  always  keep  even  but  I  know  it  isn't 
good  for  me.  I'm  getting  so  sarcastic  and  critical 
I  hardly  know  myself,"  scanning  her  face  care- 
fully in  the  glass.  "You  terrible  girl,  why  can't 
you  be  quiet  and  let  him  tease?" 

[8] 


HE    IS    ANTAGONISTIC 

Then  she  would  resolve  to  be  cheerful  and  kind 
and  not  half  lose  her  temper  when  tormented. 

"Who  is  he  anyway,  to  trouble  me  like  this? 
Ordinarily,  things  people  say  go  in  one  ear  and 
out  the  other,  but  he  has  such  a  convincing  way 
of  saying  things,  one  almost  thinks  he  means  it." 

"Now  my  hair  isn't  red  and  it  isn't  kinky.  It's 
brown  and  curly  and  I  know  it.  Why  should  I 
care  what  he  says?  I  do  not  think,  anyway  it's 
what  he  says,  it's  the  way  he  says  it  that  hurts." 
For  he  did  hurt  her  feelings  very  much  and  her 
heart  ached  for  some  kindly  commendation  or 
interest  in  herself  or  her  work. 

But  no  one  volunteered  to  offer  anything  so 
simple  as  praise,  and  Inez,  from  a  home  of  loving 
brothers  and  sisters  and  a  mother  and  father  who, 
in  the  fear  of  God,  admonished  and  advised  their 
aesthetic  and  spiritually  minded  daughter,  she 
was  transplanted  to  an  atmosphere  of  criticism, 
and  unbelief,  for  among  others  of  his  many  firm 
convictions  Sydney  Wilson  prided  himself  on 
being  a  "freethinker."  "All  religious  belief  is  a 
'fake,' "  he  asserted  with  the  assurance  of  one 
who  knew  nothing  about  religion.  As,  indeed, 
he  did  not,  for  he  was  raised  in  that  atmosphere 
of  unbelief  and  ignorance  concerning  true  re- 
ligious faith.  His  delight  was  to  point  out  incon- 
sistencies in  the  Christian  life  and  make  jokes 
on  "preachers"  for  Inez'  benefit. 

[9] 


TAMING    A    VA£UERO 

But  this  was  not  all.  Her  religion  was  made 
the  butt  of  his  raillery  and  it  was  with  a  sinking 
heart  she  tried  to  defend  her  faith. 

"See  the  schoolma'am  get  mad,"  he  would  say 
after  some  of  his  joking  when  her  flushed  face 
would  show  the  state  of  her  feelings. 

"Oh,  I'm  not  angry,"  responds  Inez  sweetly, 
"I  just  consider  the  source,  Mr.  Wilson." 

"Hear  that!  Her  religion  teaches  her  to  talk 
sarcastic;  when  you  are  reviled  you  should  bear 
it  patiently,  so  I've  heard  that  the  Bible  says.  I 
never  have  read  it,  so  I  do  not  know.  Maybe 
I'm  wrong,  but  it  seems  to  me  you're  taught  to 
revile  not  again." 

"Do  not  take  me  as  an  example,  Mr.  Wilson, 
I  beg,  for  I  am  such  a  poor  one  it  isn't  fair  to 
Christianity.  But  I  do  try  to  be  one,"  ended 
Inez,  meekly. 

"Oh,  you're  all  alike.  Always  preaching  but 
never  practicing.  Don't  look  so  downhearted, 
it  doesn't  amount  to  anything  anyway.  Be  jolly !" 
and  he  would  go  out  whistling  "Way  Down 
Yonder  in  the  Cornfield,"  leaving  poor  Inez 
worried  and  perplexed  and  longing  to  live  and 
act  in  such  a  manner  that  she  would  not  disgrace 
the  name  of  "Christian." 

"What  shall  I  do?  Oh,  what  shall  I  do?  It 
doesn't  matter  what  I  say  or  how  hard  I  try,  he 
simply  exasperates  me  until  I  act  perfectly  un- 
[10] 


HE    IS    ANTAGONISTIC 

civil."  And  seeking  her  bed  she  would  lie  and 
think  for  hours,  praying  to  be  guided  aright  and 
for  strength  to  endure  these  petty  annoyances 
and  not  to  "faint  nor  be  weary  in  well  doing." 
So  night  after  night  the  peace  of  God  stole 
into  her  heart  and  stilled  its  tumult  of  daily  in- 
sult and  homesick  longing. 


[ii] 


CHAPTER  IV 

SYDNEY    SHOWS    INEZ    THE    COUNTRY 

Six  weeks  have  swiftly  glided  by  at  Lonesome 
Glen  and  the  "Indian  summer  days"  are  growing 
perceptibly  shorter.  The  leaves  of  the  trees  bor- 
dering the  little  brook  below  the  house  are  turn- 
ing brown  and  gold  and  crimson  and  every  night 
the  sun  seems  to  set  nearer  the  south. 

Inez  loves  to  loiter  along  this  branch  until  re- 
minded that  the  evening  is  far  spent  and  supper 
time  is  near.  The  children  of  the  house,  a  little 
boy  and  girl,  are  her  companions  on  these  ram- 
bles especially  the  boy,  who  like  all  lads  of  six  is 
especially  interested  in  himself  and  his  findings. 

One  morning  she  thinks  she  will  take  the  first 
plunge  into  getting  acquainted  with  the  neigh- 
bors, an  ordeal  she  dreads.  Mr.  Fitzgerald,  one 
of  the  Board  of  School  Directors  of  Lonesome 
Glen  School  District,  has  called  upon  her.  Eng- 
lish he  is,  and  well  educated.  He  invites  her  to 
call  and  see  Mrs.  Fitzgerald,  if  she  can  climb  the 
three-mile  hill  to  their  mountain  home.  So  it  is 
there  she  decides  to  go  this  sunny  October 
afternoon. 

At  the  dinner  table  she  mentions  going  to  Mrs. 
Wilson — inquires  and  obtains  directions  for  go- 
ing, while  Mr.  Wilson  quietly  eats  his  dinner. 

[12] 


SYDNEY  SHOWS   INEZ  THE  COUNTRY 

Immediately  after  quitting  the  table  she  went 
in  and  put  on  her  cap  and 'sweater,  as  the  evenings 
are  cool,  and  started  for  her  visit. 

Imagine  her  surprise  as  she  walks  down  the 
path  to  the  gate  to  be  joined  by  Mr.  Wilson,  who 
without  even  so  much  as  a  "By  your  leave," 
walks  by  her  side  on  toward  the  trail  leading  up 
the  hillside. 

"We  will  go  the  lower  trail  and  come  back  the 
upper,  so  you  can  see  the  country  if  you  like," 
comments  Mr.  Wilson,  after  a  long  silence. 

"Thank  you,  I  shall  enjoy  seeing  everything," 
responds  Miss  Hardin  rather  stiffly,  still  thinking 
oi  his  remarkable  "nerve"  in  escorting  her  with- 
out permission. 

But  the  trail  grows  steeper  and  Sydney  stops 
every  now  and  then  to  show  her  a  pretty  view 
and  tell  her  legends  of  "early  days"  when  Indians 
roamed  these  rough  hills. 

Invigorated  by  the  climb  and  softened  by 
"Nature's  beauties"  about  her,  Inez  is  soon  her 
cheery,  friendly  little  self  again,  and  finds  her- 
self talking  almost  confidentially  to  this  "cowboy" 
whom  she  will  never  like.  He  is  so  thoughtful 
today  and  leads  her  to  talk  of  herself,  a  thing  she 
rarely  does. 

Arriving  at  Mr.  Fitzgerald's  they  find  nobody 
at  home.  Here  is  a  dilemma ! 

"We  will  just  go  on,"  suggests  Mr.  Wilson, 

[13] 


TAMING    A    VAQUERO 

"and  call  upon  the  Harmons  as  we  go  home  the 
other  trail. 

"Yes,  we  can  do  that,  and  I  wish  to  meet 
them,  too.  The  children  are  so  nice.  They  are 
so  bright,  too,  especially  dear  little  Goldie,  that  it 
is  a  pleasure  to  teach  them." 

"Teach,  teach,  teach !  And  the  children  are  so 
nice,"  mimics  Mr.  Wilson.  "Have  you  a  single 
idea  apart  from  school  ?" 

"Mr.  Wilson,"  began  Inez. 

"Mr.  Wilson,"  breaks  in  that  worthy.  "Do 
give  me  some  rest.  Call  me  Sydney.  I'm  dead 
tired  of  being  mistered." 

"But  we  have  only  been  acquainted  a  few 
weeks;  I  do  not  think  it  is  exactly  the  proper 
thing  and — " 

"Oh,  then  be  proper,  of  course,  and  drive  a 
fellow  crazy  with  your  everlasting  propriety. 
What  about  those  dear,  sweet,  cunning  little 
devils — beg  pardon — children,  I  mean?" 

She  walked  on  in  silence. 

"Oh,  gosh,  come  out  of  it,  and  finish  your 
little  moral  talk."  But  she  was  "mulish,"  as  he 
termed  it  and  would  not  answer. 

At  the  Harmons  she  was  hailed  with  delight 
by  the  children  and  soon  met  papa  and  mamma 
and  dear  old  Grandma  Harmon. 

Those     dear    grandmas !     God     bless     them 
Could   we   ever   tell   their   worth?     Surely   the 
[14] 


SYDNEY  SHOWS   INEZ  THE   COUNTRY 

praises  of  young,  beautiful  misses  have  been  sung 
enough.  Why  does  not  some  one  try  to  paint  the 
beauty,  the  love,  the  forbearance,  the  angelic 
sweetness  of  these  white-haired  saints  of  God? 
And  the  answer  comes  back,  "Why?  because 
words  are  inadequate  to  portray  the  character  of 
one  so  noble,  of  one  who  has  met  temptation, 
trial,  and  sorrow  upon  sorrow  and  has  overcome 
them  all." 

To  Inez  came  the  thought,  "Can  I  ever  hope  to 
grow  old  like  that?"  as  they  sat  and  chatted 
together  over  the  children  and  their  various  ex- 
periences with  them.  "Will  I  ever  be  so  lovable, 
so  beautiful  as  that  ?" 

Dear  grandma!  She  has  long  since  passed 
away  to  the  land  they  loved  to  talk  about  together, 
but  in  Inez  Hardin's  heart  memory  still  keeps 
green  a  place  for  "grandma."  Does  she  know  in 
that  happy  land  of  the  "Hereafter,"  in  those 
many  days  when  Inez  slipped  away  from  care 
and  tumult  and  heartache  to  see  "grandma,"  of 
the  help  she  gave  to  the  life  of  the  lonely  little 
broken-hearted  school-teacher  of  Lonesome  Glen  ? 

God  alone  knows,  but  grandma  is  not  forgotten 
and  will  ever  live  in  Inez  Hardin's  faithful  heart. 

God  bless  her,  and  all  the  silver-haired  saints 
who  are  in  the  homes  all  over  our  broad  land. 
Surely  they  should  be  "Idols  of  hearts  and  of 
households,  these  angels  of  God  in  disguise." 
[15] 


TAMING    A    VAgUERO 

But  their  little  call  at  the  Harmon's  is  over, 
the  sun  is  fast  sinking  in  the  western  sky  and  they 
quickly  wend  their  way  homeward. 


[16] 


CHAPTER  V 

A  SURPRISE  AND  A  REVELATION 

"Are  you  in  good  humor,  now,  schoolma'am  ?  " 
asked  Mr.  Wilson,  as  they  started  down  the  slope 
homeward. 

"I'm  always  good-natured  when  people  look  up 
to  me,"  replied  Inez,  smiling  down  at  him  from 
the  upper  path  where  she  walked. 

"Aw,  yes,"  he  answered,  swinging  himself  in 
front  and  above  her  on  the  side  hill,  "then  you 
will  oblige  me  by  telling  me  what  you  were  going 
to  tell  me  about  your  profession." 

"You  seem  curious." 

"Surely  die  of  curiosity  if  you  don't  tell  me." 

"You  deserve  no  reward  so  I  will  tell  you  for 
punishment,  as  I  do  the  children  at  school.  You 
accused  me  of  having  no  thought  or  idea  apart 
from  school.  If  I  didn't,  that  alone  would 
suffice.  It  is  a  large  enough  work  in  itself — a 
life  work,  so  to  speak.  Think  of  the  responsibility 
of  training  those  children  to  live  and  live  aright." 

"Don't  want  to  think.  Makes  me  tired.  I'd 
advise  you  not  to;  it'll  make  you  look  old  and 
lose  your  beauty,"  glancing  at  her  to  note  the 
effect  of  this  shot. 

"My  beauty !"  indignantly.  "As  if  one's 
beauty  (should  they  possess  any)  could  weigh 
[17] 


TAMING    A    VAQUERO 

against  doing  one's  duty  in  teaching  or  any  other 
work.  I  have  not  as  yet  looked  upon  teaching  as 
my  lifework.  I  am  thinking  seriously  of  making 
it  so.  But  whether  I  do  or  do  not  make  it  a  life- 
work,  I  shall  surely  do  what  I  see  to  be  my  duty 
in  that  work  while  engaged  in  it."  She  paused 
from  sheer  lack  of  breath  to  proceed. 

"Aw,  don't.  It  makes  me  feel  awful  to  hear 
you  talk  of  'lifework' ;  to  think  of  your  burying 
yourself  in  a  schoolroom  with  a  lot  of  sassy  kids. 
Come  out  of  it,  do.  Have  a  good  time  and  stop 
talking  of  duty  and  such  disagreeable  things." 

"You  always  misunderstand  me,  Mr.  Wilson. 
Surely  you  know  and  feel  it.  I  can't  explain,  but 
some  way  I  just  long  to  help  a  little  in  this  needy 
world  of  ours,  to  make  things  easier  for  the  few 
I  meet  in  my  path  through  life.  Things  are  not 
as  they  should  be,  but  surely  they  can  be  bettered 
and  each  can  help  a  little;  if  we  could  but  help 
one  person,  life  would  be  worth  while." 

"You  might  try  me.  I'm  pretty  much  of  a 
heathen,  you  know.  You  put  your  energy  on 
me.  Do,  now !  Think  what  a  lifework  it  will  be 
and  don't  get  discouraged." 

"Mr.  Wilson,  please  do  not  make  fun  of  me," 
pleaded  Inez,  amused,  in  spite  of  her  efforts  not  to 
appear  so,  at  this  very  acute  young  man's  way  of 
putting  his  own  interpretation  on  her  every  word. 

"Making  fun!     Why,   'Great  guns,'   I   mean 

[18] 


A    SURPRISE    AND    A    REVELATION 

every  word  of  it.  Never  thought  of  making  fun. 
Accuse  a  fellow  of  'making  fun'  when  he  never 
was  so  much  in  earnest  in  his  life.  Where  could 
you  find  a  cruder  subject  than  I  am?  You  were 
longing  to  help  some  one  and  I  show  you  how 
and  you  begin  to  back  down.  I  suppose  you 
were  simply  expending  your  oratory  on  me  and 
didn't  mean  a  word  of  it,  then  ?  "  inquiringly. 

"Of  course  I  meant  it,  every  word.  Only  you 
will  not  understand.  And  we  can  help  each 
other.  I  want  to  be  your  friend,"  pursued  Inez, 
scarcely  knowing  what  defense  to  make  and  hop- 
ing they  could  be  friends.  It  was  so  nice  to  have 
some  friend  to  understand  and  help  you. 

Inez  believed  in  "platonic  friendships"  between 
young  men  and  women.  It  was  one  of  her  pet 
theories.  She  was  only  twenty-one.  Poor  little 
Inez. 

"Pooh !  You  don't  want  to  be  my  friend ;  you 
think  I'm  a  rough,  wild  and  woolly  Westerner." 

"Why,  Sydney  Wilson,  I'm  a  Westerner,  my- 
self," laughed  Inez,  "and  I'm  proud  of  it." 

"Look  out,  you'll  fall.  That  place  is  narrow. 
Let  me  help  you,"  and,  turning,  he  held  out  his 
arms  to  help  her  across.  As  she  sprang  down 
into  his  outstretched  arms,  he  set  her  safely 
down  on  the  firm  bank,  and,  without  warning, 
clasped  her  to  him  and  kissed  her  full  on  the 
mouth  once,  twice  before  she  could  free  herself. 

[19] 


TAMING    A    VAQUERO 

"What  do  you  mean,  sir,  by  this  outrage? 
To  think  of  being  so  insulted !  Out  of  my  path  ! 
Do  you  hear?  I'm  going  home.  That  is  the 
way  you  treat  me  when  I  ask  to  be  friends  with 
you.  What  a  fool  I  am." 

Poor  Inez !  how  her  heart  thumped.  She  was 
angry  at  him  and  still  angrier  with  herself  for 
forgetting  herself  and  being  so  friendly.  It  is 
so  easy  to  forget!  And  he  had  misunderstood 
her.  Oh,  the  shame  of  it ! 

They  walked  home — in  silence,  the  beauty 
of  the  western  sky  forgotten,  their  confidential 
chat  broken,  the  breach  between  them  widening, 
seemingly,  at  every  step. 

But,  alone  in  her  room,  Inez  sat  long,  long 
after  the  shadows  of  night  fell,  her  burning  face 
in  her  hands,  trying  to  still  the  beating  of  her 
heart,  to  forget  the  emotion  that  shook  her  entire 
being  when  he  held  her  to  his  heart,  to  forget 
the  madness  that  seized  her  when  his  lips  met 
hers. 

"I  do  not  care  for  him;  I  will  not  care  for 
him,"  she  cried  to  herself,  springing  to  her  feet 
and  walking  back  and  forth  across  the  floor. 

"He  is  so  antagonistic  to  my  every  desire,  my 
very  nature.  I  should  turn  from  him  in  aversion. 
He  is  an  infidel,  a  rough  and  careless  cowboy. 
He  would  crush  my  very  heart  out.  I  couldn't 
be  myself  with  him,  never !  Yet  how  thought- 

[20] 


A    SURPRISE    AND    A    REVELATION 

ful  and  kind  he  was  during  our  earlier  conversa- 
tion and  how  happy  I  was.  Oh,  God,  I  never 
dreamed  of  this."  And  so  ended  her  first  really 
happy  day  since  her  arrival  and  destined,  alas, 
to  be  her  last. 


[21] 


CHAPTER    VI 

HER  MISTAKE  AND  HER  RESOLVE 

Upon  awakening,  next  morning,  her  first 
thought  was  of  her  evening's  experience,  and 
her  sleep  having  refreshed  her%  she  felt  almost 
her  old  self. 

"He  must  never  know.  I  shall  treat  him  coolly 
and  give  him  to  understand  he  cannot  insult  me 
with  such  impunity.  I  shall  crush  him  out  of 
my  heart.  You  silly  weakling !  "  to  herself  in 
the  glass,  "do  not  show  any  more  of  this  fool- 
ishness." 

At  the  breakfast  table  she  looked  at  him  only 
once,  meeting  his  brown  eyes  questioning  and 
lovelit,  and  looked  no  more.  Forgive  him!  She 
knew  she  did.  She  worshipped  his  very  being. 
In  her  heart  she  cried,  "What  shall  I  do?  He 
is  my  fate!  I  cannot  resist  him.  But  we  can 
never  be  anything  to  each  other.  We  might  have 
been  friends  and  he  has  spoiled  all  our  nice 
times  and  our  comradeship.  Why  did  he  ever 
act  that  way?  Everything  seems  tangled  up  and 
criss-cross,  anyway." 

Then  away  to  her  work,  and,  coming  home 
weary  and  worn  with  the  day's  work  and  worry, 
she  would  try,  in  her  lonely  little  room,  to  study 
and  keep  up  her  culture  which  she  felt  she  was 

[22] 


HER    MISTAKE    AND    HER    RESOLVE 

someway  losing  out  here  at  Lonesome  Glen. 
So  the  weeks  crept  by. 

What  was  the  matter?  She  could  not  analyze 
herself.  She  could  not  throw  off  nor  work  off 
the  gnawing  pain  of  homesickness  and  longing 
in  her  heart. 

They  were  all  in  the  "big  room,"  the  family 
and  the  hired  girl  and  the  men  boarders.  She 
could  hear  the  men  over  their  game  of  cards 
and  all  together  laughing  and  seeming  to  enjoy 
the  evening's  relaxation. 

His  laugh  rang  out  now  and  then.  How  she 
started  at  the  sound!  What  a  melodious  laugh 
he  had,  and  his  conversation  in  a  low  easy  drawl 
was  like  music.  But  Inez  could  scarcely  bear 
the  sound.  It  irritated  her  and  finally  she  decided 
to  walk  down  to  the  pasture  and  back.  To  get 
away  from  the  sound  of  that  voice,  only  to  get 
away  by  herself  and  be  alone. 

For  these  last  weeks  are  telling  on  her  nerves. 
The  house  feels  close.  She  is  suffocating.  Pass- 
ing out  with  a  light  step,  she  is  soon  walking 
briskly  down  the  lane.  The  moon  is  coming 
up  over  the  distant  horizon  and  the  few  late 
autumnal  leaves  are  rustling  down  from  the  tall 
poplars  as  she  slowly  comes  back  from  her  brisk 
constitutional,  feeling  quieted  by  Mother  Nature's 
healing  balms  in  spite  of  heartache  and  mis- 
understanding. 

[23] 


TAMING    A    VAQUERO 

Under  the  dense  shade  as  she  nears  the  house 
she  sees  a  dark  figure  silhouetted  against  the 
sky.  It  is  Sydney,  her  heart  tells  her.  To  avoid 
him  is  her  first  thought  and  go  in  the  front  way, 
then  fiercely  to  herself,  "I'll  pass  him  without  a 
look  in  his  direction.  He  knows  I  see  him.  I'll 
show  him  I  do  not  care."  She  is  near  him. 
She  is  opposite.  Then,  "Inez,"  he  says  and  steps 
into  the  path.  "Little  girl,"  and  in  a  moment  she 
is  pressed  close  to  his  heart,  her  face  is  buried 
on  his  shoulder  and  for  one  blissful  moment, 
only  one,  Inez  forgets  conventionality,  forgets 
he  is  presuming,  is  insulting  her  by  such  forward 
and  ungentlemanly  advances  as  these. 

Then  she  struggles  to  free  herself  and  is  soon 
free,  but,  "Aw  come,  now,  say  you  do  not  mind 
so  much ;  say  you  rather  like  it.  I  know  you  do. 
You  needn't  try  to  be  high  and  haughty  with 
Willie,  need  you,  little  girl?"  tenderly,  blocking 
her  way  into  the  porch  and  taking  her  hand 
outstretched  to  stay  his  approach. 

Snatching  her  hand  away  with  a  wild,  despair- 
ing gesture,  she  cried  with  suppressed,  passionate 
fury,  "How  dare  you  attempt  familiarity  with 
me;  do  you  call  yourself  by  the  name  of  man? 
You  are  a  devil.  Waylaying  my  approach  to 
the  house  and  insulting  me  in  this  malicious 
manner.  It's  the  meanest,  lowest  trick  I  ever 
heard  of.  Let  me  pass!  Do  you  understand  that  ?" 
[24] 


HER    MISTAKE    AND    HER    RESOLVE 

He  understood.  For  he  let  her  pass  and  she 
heard  his  low  exclamation  or  curse,  she  could  not 
tell  which,  as  she  passed  within  and  shut  herself 
up  in  her  room. 

Compressing  her  lips  to  keep  back  a  moan,  she 
sank  on  her  knees  and  wept  and  sobbed  until  it 
seemed  her  very  soul  was  wept  out,  then  she 
arose  with  her  determination  fixed  on  a  course 
of  action  for  the  future. 

"I  was  wrong  to  face  him.  I  should  have 
avoided  him.  He  is  determined  to  have  my 
affection  and  is  used  to  getting  everything  in  this 
world  he  wants,  I  can  see  that.  He  cannot  compel 
my  love  by  such  actions  as  that  and  I  will  see 
that  he  shows  no  more  of  such  a  spirit.  I'll 
simply  ignore  his  very  existence,  and  avoid  him 
in  every  possible  way." 

Thus  the  days  dragged  on,  as  they  have  a 
habit  of  doing.  Inez  found  plenty  to  do.  She 
was  engrossed  in  the  school  work  and  had  much 
to  keep  her  busy,  but  her  study  work  did  not 
progress  as  she  had  intended.  Her  time  was 
occupied  at  school  and  she  felt  weary  at  night 
and  lonely  and  restless. 

Several  evenings  she  went  out  in  the  kitchen 
with  Mrs.  Wilson  and  the  girls,  but  her  secret 
weighed  on  her ;  did  not  leave  her  for  an  instant. 
Sydney  hardly  ever  stayed  in  the  kitchen,  but 
one  evening  he  came  in.  She  was  telling  the 


TAMING    A    VAgUERO 

girls  one  of  her  Normal  School  experiences,  as 
he  entered,  and,  finishing  abruptly,  she  left  the 
kitchen  without  joining  in  the  laugh  which 
followed. 

The  younger  children  followed  her  out,  calling 
"Miss  Hardin, .Miss  Hardin,  come  tell  us  some 
more."  "Not  now,  children,"  she  replied  gently 
(she  was  always  gentle  with  children),  "some 
other  time  I'll  come  in  and  tell  you  some  more. 
Now  I  must  go  to  my  work." 

"Miss  Hardin  is  an  indefatigable  worker.  She 
seems  to  like  to  work.  Better  give  us  another 
'spiel.'  I  didn't  hear  that  yarn  of  yours,"  began 
Sydney,  but  Inez  was  gone. 

So  whenever  he  came  in  where  she  was  she 
immediately  took  occasion  to  leave  the  room, 
trying  not  to  be  too  abrupt,  so  as  to  hurt  Mrs. 
Wilson  whom  she  respected  very  much. 

She  had  never  spoken  a  word  directly  to  him 
since  that  fateful  night.  She,  with  infinite  tact, 
had  avoided  being  addressed  by  him  and  had 
almost  entirely  avoided  his  presence. 

Sydney  no  longer  sang  about  his  evening 
chores  and  seemed  very  reckless  and  more  im- 
polite than  ever,  taking  every  occasion  to  say 
before  Inez  every  irreverent  and  rough  remark 
he  could  conceive  of  concerning  "religious" 
people,  but  Inez  seemed  positively  invulnerable 
to  his  almost  directly  insulting  phrases,  which 
[26] 


HER    MISTAKE    AND    HER    RESOLVE 

every  member  of  the  household  knew  were 
directed  at  her. 

Once  Mrs.  Wilson  remarked  pleasantly,  "Miss 
Hardin  ought  never  to  be  polite  to  you  at  all, 
Sydney.  You  are  always  teasing  her,  and  she 
takes  everything  so  quietly." 

"Quietly?  Yes,  too  everlastingly  quiet;  she 
might  be  an  oyster  for  all  the  good  it  does,  lately, 
for  a  fellow  to  say  a  word  to  her.  She's  about 
as  much  heart  as  an  icicle,  and  she  doesn't  care 
for  anything,"  was  the  careless  reply. 

"I  perceive,  Miss  Hardin,  from  your  reading 
that  you  are  a  lover  of  humanity,"  said  Mr.  Small, 
the  steady  boarder. 

"Man-hater,  you  mean,  Small.  Lord !  Where 
has  she  shown  herself  to  be  a  lover  of  humanity  ? 
I'm  from  Missouri,"  broke  in  Sydney,  "if  she's 
a  lover  of  humanity,  I  hope  I'll  be  spared  ever 
meeting  a  hater." 

"Sydney !"  chided  his  mother. 

"Should  you  like  to  read  'Collectivism,'  Mr. 
Small,  or  are  you  interested  in  industrial  econ- 
omy? You  may  have  any  of  my  books  and 
welcome,"  answered  Inez  to  Mr.  Small,  ignoring 
Sydney's  interruption;  whereupon  that  young 
savage  looked  as  if  he'd  been  slapped  in  the 
face;  felt  that  he  had  lowered  himself  in  her 
estimation  and  was  accordingly  angry  with  him- 
self for  having  spoken.  She  seemed  so  superior. 
[27] 


TAMING    A    VAQUERO 

Inez  felt  herself  lowered  by  this  method  of 
procedure,  but  feared  from  experience  that  if 
she  forgave  and  acted  friendly  he  would  take 
it  that  she  desired  his  familiarity. 

"Why  is  he  so  obtuse  in  ways?  Why  can't 
he  see  I  wanted  to  treat  him  friendly  and  not 
overstep  the  bounds  of  propriety?  This  is  terrible. 
For  weeks  we  have  not  spoken  and  he  has  done 
every  possible  thing  to  hurt  my  feelings.  If 
I  could  only  go  home.  If  I  were  only  away  from 
here,"  sighed  our  little  schoolma'am. 

Home !  How  far  away  it  seemed  to  Inez. 
Sometimes  she  wondered  if  she  should  ever  see 
home  again.  She  doubted  it.  Everything  was 
turning  away  from  her.  It  seemed  that  God  had 
hidden  his  face. 

Dear  heart!  Thy  Father  knows  thy  troubles. 
The  Christ  was  tempted  in  all  ways  like  unto  us. 
He  knows  your  every  heart-throb  and  every 
moment  of  anguish. 

To  Inez  the  hardest  thing  of  all  was  that  this 
unchivalrous  and  ungentlemanly  conduct  of  Syd- 
ney Wilson's  did  not  make  her  lose  her  regard  for 
him.  Her  heart  made  excuses  for  his  every 
fault  and  failing;  she  could  not  tear  his  image 
from  her  heart. 

"He  is  my  fate;  my  curse,"  she  cried  in  her 
heart.  "Why  did  we  ever  meet?  I  cannot,  can- 
not bear  it." 

[28! 


HER    MISTAKE    AND    HER    RESOLVE 

But  someway  we  always  do  bear  things,  and 
though  her  heart  ached  until  she  never  knew  what 
it  was  to  be  free  from  heartache  she  still  lived  on. 

Her  work  was  an  inspiration  and  Mr.  Small 
was  very  kind  and  sympathetic;  someway  he 
seemed  to  understand  her.  He  came  from  "her 
world." 

"What  do  you  think  of  'Wagner's  Simple  Life,' 
Miss  Hardin  ?"  he  asked  during  one  dinner  chat. 

"That  is  something  like,  to  use  slang,  Mr. 
Small,"  retorted  Inez  with  an  animated  look. 
"Why  cannot  the  upper  class  see  that  the  com- 
plexity of  life  is  wearing  them  out  and  entirely 
unfitting  them  for  usefulness?  Like  Tolstoy, 
Wagner  shows  'What  To  Do'  in  plain  words  and 
why  will  not  people  see  it?" 

"They  do  not  want  to  see,  I'm  inclined  to  think. 
The  majority  of  them  think  it  life,  this  exciting 
tomfoolery  and  as  for  usefulness,  they  do  not 
desire  to  be  useful,  don't  you  know.  It's  change 
and  excitement  they  want  or  they'd  die  of  ennui." 

"They  need  good,  useful  employment;  a  little 
of  the  work  and  effort  that's  crowded  on  the 
poor  and  helpless,  who  do  their  work.  To  me 
the  majority  of  them  are  mere  nonentities,  para- 
sites on  useful  society.  That's  not  saying  they 
are  all  monsters  of  wickedness.  Many  of  them 
are  good  people.  They  are  creatures  of  environ- 
ment. They  are  just  what  the  existing  circum- 
[29] 


TAMING    A    VAgUERO 

stances  have  made  them,  even  as  we  are.  But  it 
doesn't  make  it  right.  This  'man  eat  man'  was 
not  God's  plan.  It  is  not  that  love  for  our  neigh- 
bor which  the  Man  of  Sorrows  taught  at  Galilee." 

"No,"  responded  Mr.  Small,  "it's  not  Christ's 
teaching,  nor  is  it  the  teaching  of  his  disciples, 
but  the  church  people  are  largely  worshipers 
of  Mammon  now.  Hold  on !  Not  all  of  them, 
of  course,  but  the  majority,  I  fear,  love  the  'flesh 
pots  of  Egypt.' " 

"I  wish  I  could  bring  proof  that  your  observa- 
tions are  at  fault,  Mr.  Small,  but  I  am  forced 
to  agree  with  you  though  I  am  loath  to  do  so. 
This  condition  is  to  be  deplored.  The  people, 
the  workers,  are  leaving  the  church.  Why? 
Because  the  church  has  left  them ;  'tis  a  church 
of  the  well-to-do,  of  the  moneyed  people,  a  sign 
of  gilded  respectability  ofttimes." 

"Yet  you  are  a  church-woman,  Miss  Hardin, 
in  spite  of  that  harsh  condemnation,"  inquir- 
ingly. 

"Yes,  I  am  a  church-woman.  The  spirit  of  the 
church's  possibility  illumines  me.  And,  the 
religion  of  the  Carpenter  of  Nazareth  has  not 
changed.  Should  I  deny  him?  Deny  his  work 
of  grace  in  my  heart  and  in  the  world  to-day, 
in  spite  of  the  Mammon  worship  of  many  of  the 
so-called  Christians  ?  Still,  still  God  is  with  us ! 
Remember  that,  and  spite  of  the  darkness  now, 
[30] 


HER    MISTAKE    AND    HER    RESOLVE 

the  light  of  dawn  is  breaking.     The  truth  is 
mighty  and  will  prevail." 

"Of  course,  you  believe  that  rot  you  are  talk- 
ing, but  let  me  tell  you  it'll  take  something  more 
substantial  than  a  hope  of  eternal  bliss  to  satisfy 
poor  devils  who've  toiled  and  struggled  their 
lives  away.  If  there's  a  God,  he's  a  mighty  poor 
one  to  allow  all  this  misery.  Part  of  the  world 
rich  and  surfeited,  the  rest  suffering  and  at  best 
half  existing,"  burst  in  Sydney  Wilson. 

"But,"  answered  Inez,  "man  is  his  own  free 
moral  agent.  Man  has  made  conditions  so;  God 
never  made  them  so.  A  study  of  the  history  of 
mankind  would  show  man's  own  part  in  his 
condition.  The  God  of  love  and  right  has  not 
ordered  it,  but  man  in  his  sinfulness  brought 
upon  himself  and  his  posterity  this  misery.  We 
can  redeem  ourselves  by  doing  those  things  which 
are  good  and  right.  In  ourselves  lies  our  power 
to  bring  about  the  reign  of  right. 

'For  who  are  we  to  chide  at  Him? 

Love  leans  on  faith  when  sight  is  dim.'  " 

"Sentimental  tomfoolery !"  mumbled  Sydney  as 
they  arose  from  the  table  and  went  about  their 
evening  work.  But  Mr.  Small  opened  the  middle 
hall  door  for  Inez  and  said,  "Thank  you,  Miss 
Hardin,  you've  enlightened  me  on  a  few  points 
and  I've  enjoyed  our  little  talk.  I  wish  I  might 
stay  here  longer  and  talk  of  those  things." 

[31] 


CHAPTER  VII 

A   NEW  ACQUAINTANCE 

Coming  home  from  school  one  evening  the  fol- 
lowing week,  Inez  found  the  "big  room"  occupied 
by  a  small,  dapper  young  man  who  stared  at  her 
as  she  passed  through  with  that  polite  stare 
which  told  Inez  he  "belonged"  to  the  class  of 
those  whom  fortune  has  smiled  upon ;  for  that 
the  "silver  spoon  was  in  his  mouth  at  his  birth" 
was  self-evident. 

While  warming  her  hands  at  the  big  boxstove 
after  divesting  herself  of  her  wraps  in  her  room, 
and  conscious  all  the  time  of  the  stare  from  the 
couch  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  stove,  Sydney 
came  in  and  perceiving  the  embarrassing  posi- 
tion immediately  introduced  "Miss  Hardin,  Mr. 
Van  Everett,"  then  fixed  up  the  fire  and  pre- 
cipitately retreated. 

"Beastly  raw  day,"  spoke  up  our  new  friend. 

"Quite  cold,"   replied  Inez,   politely. 

"Lonesome  hole,  isn't  it?" 

"Yes,  but  one  gets  used  to  it  after  living  here 
awhile." 

"Say,  you  came  from  the  city,  didn't  you?" 

"I?    Why,  what  made  you  think  that?" 

"You're  not  one  of  the  natives,"  he  grinned, 
"knew  from  your  dress.  Style,  you  know." 

[32] 


UNIVERSITY    , 

CF  y 

RNlr 
T  NEW    ACQUAINTANCE 

Inez  smiled. 

"But  what  are  you  doing  out  here?  Get  ship- 
wrecked or  lost?" 

"Much  simpler  than  that.  I  teach  the  district 
school." 

"By  George !  Teach  school !  I  say,  excuse 
me,  but  did  your  governor  fail  and  you  have  to 
go  to  work  ?  Too  bad !  I'm  no  end  sorry,  don't 
you  know." 

"Thank  you  for  your  sympathy,  Mr.  Van 
Everett,  but  I  do  not  need  it.  You  are  in  error. 
I  am  a  farmer's  daughter  and  was  educated  to 
teach.  It  isn't  a  hardship.  I  was  always  poor 
and  know  nothing  else  but  poverty.  It  isn't  a 
disgrace,"  rather  warmly,  "and  I  like  to  teach." 

"By  George !  I  can't  quite  make  it  out.  You're 
a  lady  and  were  always  poor." 

"You  seem  laboring  under  a  delusion  that  poor 
women  are  not  ladies.  You  are  much  more 
critical  toward  my  class  than  I  am  toward  yours. 
I  never  once  opined  you  were  no  gentleman 
because  I  perceived  the  evidences  of  the  hated 
aristocracy  about  you,"  interrupted  Inez  rather 
indignant  and  yet  amused  at  this  young  aristo- 
crat still  in  his  teens  and  so  prejudiced  and 
ignorant  concerning  life  and  his  fellow  beings. 

"Beg  pardon,"  he  replied,  straightening  himself 
from  his  half-reclining  posture,  "I  didn't  mean 
any  offense.  Sorry  I  said  anything.  I  always 

[33] 


TAMING    A    VA£UERO 

thought  of  poor  people  as  different,  you  know, 
and — "  he  broke  off  abruptly. 

"Yes,  I  know,"  said  Inez,  sympathetically,  "I 
see  your  position  exactly  and  you  are  excused  for 
your  misunderstanding  and  false  impression. 
But  we  should  not  form  opinions  blindly." 

"I  never  will  again,  I  assure  you.  Never  was 
more  mistaken  in  my  life." 

Just  here  the  call  to  supper  put  an  end  to 
his  garrulity,  but  during  the  meal  Inez  could 
feel  the  new-comer's  polite  stare  and,  without 
looking  at  him  knew  he  was  trying  to  under- 
stand how  a  "lady"  could  be  born  a  poor  farmer's 
daughter  and  why  she  looked  so  refined  and  self- 
possessed,  "like  she  was  born  to  it,"  he  thought 
to  himself. 

To  Inez  it  seemed  like  he  was  an  answering 
echo  to  Mr.  Small's  talk  of  the  week  before, 
and  his  appalling  ignorance  would  have  been 
amusing  had  it  not  been  so  pitiable. 


[34] 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE  DIFFERENCE  BETWEEN  THEM 

Raymond  Van  Everett  was  the  pampered  only 
son  of  a  wealthy  mining  man  who  had  a  fortune 
carved  out  for  him  by  his  father  in  early  Colo- 
rado "gold  days."  Van  Everett,  Senior,  had  in- 
herited his  father's  fortune  of  valuable  real  estate, 
bonds  and  mines  and  was  increasing  his  already 
large  fortune  daily. 

Raymond  had  finished  high  school  and  before 
entering  college  was  "seeing  the  world"  for  him- 
self. He  had  been  on  the  coast  during  the  past 
summer  and  now,  with  a  cousin  who  had  mining 
interests  here,  had  come  to  get  valuable  informa- 
tion concerning  the  mining  industry,  his  father 
hoped. 

The  cousin  was  opening  a  new  mine  not  far 
from  the  scenes  of  our  story,  and  needing  some- 
one to  oversee  the  work,  left  Raymond  in  charge. 

Young  Van  Eveiett  had  been  humored  and 
petted  by  mother  and  father  to  the  extent  of  their 
power.  Was  what  Sydney  Wilson  termed  a 
"spoiled  mama's  darling,"  a  "chump." 

His  was  an  easy  good-natured  character.  He 
never  took  offense  at  the  insults  or  rough  jokes 
made  on  his  ignorance  by  the  men.  Whether  he 
thought  them  defamatory  or  complimentary  is 

[35] 


TAMING    A    VAQUERO 

a  question.  He  seemed  almost  too  conceited  to 
realize  he  was  being  made  fun  of. 

Raymond  prided  himself  on  being  a  "ladies' 
man,"  and  often  worried  poor  Inez  almost  past 
the  point  of  endurance  by  his  incessant  flow  of 
small  talk,  gossip  and  tales  of  his  many  conquests 
with  the  ladies.  How  much  they  cared  for  him, 
what  they  said  to  him,  and  how  they  wept  and 
clung  to  him  at  his  departure. 

"I  could  have  been  married  by  this,  had  I 
desired  to.  Any  of  those  girls  would  have  ac- 
cepted me  had  I  proposed  to  them,"  he  would 
say,  proudly. 

"Why  didn't  you?"  asked  Inez,  and  there  is 
a  perceptible  touch  of  irony  in  her  tone. 

"Well,  father  and  mother  didn't  want  me  to 
form  any  alliance  just  yet,  though  they  will 
never  object  long  at  anything  I  want  badly.  Some 
of  the  girls  were  nice  enough,  but  someway  they 
seemed  too  willing  and  I  soon  tired  of  them,  so 
I  knew  I  didn't  care  for  them,  you  see." 

Inez  saw  and  continued  her  book  industriously 
until  he  would  break  in  with : 

"Oh,  please  talk  to  me.  You  don't  know  how 
lonesome  I  get.  There's  no  place  to  go  and  you 
are  away  all  day,"  peevishly,  as  if  Inez  should, 
as  a  matter  of  course,  neglect  her  work  and 
studies  to  amuse  him.  The  poor,  simple,  spoiled 
darling  of  wealth ! 

[36] 


THE    DIFFERENCE    BETWEEN    THEM 

Inez  was  lonely,  very  lonely,  and  but  for  him 
often  had  the  big  living  room  to  herself.  Some- 
times she  would  stop  reading  and  talk  with  him 
or  listen  to  him.  He  never  seemed  to  tire  of 
talking  as  long  as  he  had  a  listener.  But  even 
his  garrulousness  was  better  than  no  company  and 
she  forgot  her  own  misery  for  the  time  being, 
at  least,  and  so  whiled  away  many  a  long  rainy 
evening. 

She  tried  to  interest  him  in  poetry,  literature, 
history,  science,  some  of  her  studies,  for  as  a 
student  graduate  of  high  school  it  seemed  to  her 
he  could  help  her  and  they  could  study  together. 
But  her  efforts  were  futile.  They  didn't  seem  to 
have  penetrated  beyond  the  first  layer  of  his 
brain.  He  considered  studies,  "A  bore,  don't 
you  know.  Had  enough  of  it  at  school  to  last 
me  a  natural  lifetime." 

"Do  you  really  like  to  study  all  that,  Miss 
Hardin?  Don't  you  do  it  just  because  you  want 
to  keep  up  your  studies  as  a  teacher?"  he  inquired 
of  her. 

"I  study  for  both  reasons,  Mr.  Van  Everett, 
because  I  like  it  and  because  I  wish  to  keep  up 
my  studies.  Sometimes  I  feel  discouraged.  I  get 
along  so  slowly.  My  time  is  fully  occupied  at 
school  and  I  am  often  tired,  too  tired  to  study 
as  I  should." 

"You  shouldn't  study  so  hard.     I  wish  you'd 

[37] 


TAMING    A    VAQUERO 

quit  it.  You  are  getting  pale  to  what  you  were 
when  I  came.  How  red  your  cheeks  were.  I'll 
never  forget  how  you  looked  when  you  came  in 
with  your  golden-brown  curls  blown  around  your 
face  and  that  swell  little  blue  cap  you  had  on.  I 
thought  for  awhile  you  were  a  fairy  or  else  I'd 
gone  to  sleep  and  dreamed  you,  as  I  lay  on  this 
old  couch,"  giving  it  a  vicious  thump. 

"I'm  rather  too  substantial  for  a  vision,  I 
fear,"  laughed  Inez ;  then  reprovingly,  "you 
mustn't  be  silly  again,  Mr.  Van  Everett.  This 
world  is  too  prosaic  for  fairies  and  anything  but 
bad  dreams." 

"You  weren't  a  bad  dream.  I  never  had  so 
pleasant  an  awakening.  To  wake  up  and  find 
before  me  my  ideal  woman,  so  sweet  and  lovely," 
with  a  tender  look  in  his  little  black  eyes. 

"Pardon  me,  Mr.  Van  Everett,"  said  Inez, 
irritably,  "but  I  must  request  you  not  to  make 
complimentary  personal  remarks  in  my  presence. 
They  are  disagreeable  in  the  extreme." 

"Why,  what  a  queer  girl !  I  can't  say  anything 
like  that  but  you  immediately  get  angry  with  me. 
Don't  be  angry !  Please  don't !  I'll  try  to  do  as 
you  say,  only  smile  and  don't  look  so  stern.  I 
can't  bear  to  have  you  angry  with  me,"  he 
pleaded,  childishly. 

"I  am  not  angry,  but  I  dislike  foolishness  of 
that  sort.  I  want  honest  regard  and  true  criti- 

[38] 


THE    DIFFERENCE    BETWEEN    THEM 

cisms  of  my  faults  with  a  desire  to  help  me  cure 
them,  not  senseless  flattery.  I  beg  your  pardon. 
I  know  I  am  a  bear,  but  sometimes  I  can't  help 
being  cross,"  apologetically. 

"Most  girls  like  compliments,"  mused  Ray- 
mond. "They  just  hint  for  them  and  if  a  fellow 
doesn't  give  them  they  think  he's  a  'muff.'  " 

"I'd  sooner  be  a  'muff'  than  a  fool,"  retorted 
Inez,  "if  you'll  pardon  such  strong  language. 
And  if  I  found  one  of  my  brothers  spending 
his  time  trying  to  cull  beautiful  lies  to  flatter 
some  vain,  silly  girl,  I'd  tell  him  the  opinion 
with  which  women  of  sense  regard  him." 

Thus  Inez  concluded  their  conversation  ab- 
ruptly and  passed  into  her  own  little  room,  there 
to  think,  not  of  the  poor  vain  Van  Everett  who 
was  evidently  trying  to  show  her  his  regard, 
but  of  Sydney  Wilson,  who  for  weeks  had  not 
spoken  to  her  and  who  seemed  rougher  and 
coarser  than  ever. 

Raymond  Van  Everett  was  polite,  kind  and 
thoughtful  of  her.  Always  ready  to  do  her 
slightest  bidding,  anticipating  her  wishes  and  re- 
quests and  as  quickly  complying  with  them.  He 
was  her  devoted  slave,  hung  upon  her  every  word 
and  agreed  with  her  in  her  wildest  flights  of 
fancy  though  far  beyond  his  comprehension. 

Sydney  Wilson  was  as  impolite  as  is  possible 
to  be,  careless  of  her  comfort,  always  looking  for 

[39] 


TAMING    A    VAQUERO 

opportunity  to  in  some  way  make  things  un- 
pleasant for  her,  and  though  no  one  guessed 
it,  quite  as  miserable  as  she  to  note  the  frigidity 
of  her  manner  and  how  little  Inez  seemed  to 
care  for  his  persecution. 

If  he  had  known!  But  he  did  not  know  and 
so  they  drifted  farther  and  farther  apart.  Inez, 
trying  to  conquer  her  love  for  him,  because  of 
the  knowledge  that  they  could  never  be  happy, 
and  Sydney  because  he  thought  Inez  scorned 
him  and  his  offers  of  love,  thought  him  beneath 
her  notice.  His  pride  was  hurt,  so  he  vowed 
to  scorn  her  and  make  her  regret  her  treat- 
ment of  him,  at  least  to  have  revenge. 

Was  there  ever  so  perplexing  a  matter? 
Truly,  the  "course  of  true  love  never  runs 
smoothly." 


[40] 


CHAPTER   IX 

A   WALK   AND   WHAT   CAME   OF   IT 

Raymond  Van  Everett  became  Inez'  companion 
in  several  of  her  rambles.  She  tried  to  avoid 
him,  but  he  was  always  "going  up  that  way,  and 
may  I  walk  with  you,  Miss  Hardin?"  There 
was  no  room  for  anything  except  acquiescence, 
but  her  rambles  became  short,  few  and  far 
between. 

To  herself,  Inez  said,  "It  is  bad  enough  to  be 
continually  worried  about  the  house  with  him. 
He's  like  a  troublesome  mosquito,  only  one  can't 
slap  him  away;  I  wish  I  could." 

Starting  out  for  a  walk  one  evening,  in  a  foggy, 
misty,  and  drizzling  rain,  Inez  heard  a  voice 
calling,  "Wait,  wait,  Miss  Hardin,  I'm  going  up 
that  way  to  shoot  quail." 

"It's  too  foggy  to  shoot  quail.  You'd  better 
go  back;  you'll  get  your  feet  wet.  I'm  just 
going  up  to  Mrs.  Jones's,"  ribbed  Inez,  who  hadn't 
intended  going  anywhere,  until  that  seemed  a 
way  out,  for  Raymond  didn't  care  to  mix  with 
the  "natives." 

"I'll  go  along  with  you.  It'll  be  late  before  you 
come  back  and  you  shouldn't  be  out  alone,"  was 
the  consoling  reply. 

So  he  trudged  through  the  mud  by  her  side, 

[41] 


TAMING    A    VAgUERO 

ruining  his  patent  leathers  because  his  rubbers 
were  too  low  to  be  of  value,  but  thinking  only  of 
being  beside  her. 

Inez  walked  briskly  and  it  was  all  he  could 
do  to  keep  pace  with  her  as  they  walked  the 
half  mile  with  what  seemed  to  him  amazing 
speed. 

The  call  was  much  pleasanter  than  Inez  antici- 
pated, and  consulting  her  watch  she  was  surprised 
to  find  an  hour  had  passed  as  if  on  wings  and 
the  supper  hour  at  the  Glen  was  near,  so  bidding 
her  friendly  hostess,  "Good  evening,"  they  were 
soon  homeward  bound. 

Thinking  Raymond  punished  enough  for  his 
temerity,  Inez  opened  conversation  with  him,  her 
friendly  visit  having  made  her  friendly  with  the 
world  again. 

"This  is  one  of  my  days,  Mr.  Van  Everett, 
murky  and  misty  and  damp  and  gloomy.  Some- 
way I  love  to  be  out  in  just  such  weather.  It 
suits  my  nature  so  well." 

"You  always  remind  me  of  sunshine,"  an- 
swered Raymond  with  an  unmistakable  accent  of 
tenderness  in  his  low  tone. 

"Mercy  on  us,"  thought  Inez,  "this  will  never 
do.  Why  on  the  face  of  the  earth  must  he  act 
silly?  The  big  baby." 

Then,  as  if  by  inspiration,  "I  want  to  tell  you 
something,  Mr.  Van  Everett,  something  of  my 

[42] 


A    WALK    AND    WHAT    CAME  OF    IT 

home  and  life."  Poor  Inez  was  hungry  to  talk 
of  her  home  life  and  her  ambitions  and  aims 
though  she  knew  he  would  not  understand.  He 
could  not  understand,  never  having  an  ambition 
higher  than  a  longing  to  do  as  he  pleased  about 
everything  and  have  everyone  admire  him.  But 
at  least  he  sympathized.  She  felt  his  sympathy. 

"I  wish  you'd  say  Raymond,  or  Ray,  as  they 
do  at  home,"  he  pleaded,  "No  one  ever  says 
'Raymond'  here.  I  wish  you  would,"  and  his 
voice  was  truly  pathetic. 

"Why,  I  will  if  you  wish,  of  course.  You 
are  younger  than  I  and  I  think  it  appropriate 
and  would  prefer  it,  I  think." 

"Oh,  I'm  glad,  and  I'll  say  'Inez,'  "  he  said, 
joyfully. 

Inez  was  silent.  Of  course,  that  would  have 
to  follow  her  calling  him  by  his  Christian  name 
and  she  was  hardly  prepared  for  so  familiar 
an  address  from  him.  "Yet,"  she  reasoned,  "it 
will  do  no  harm  and  I  do  want  to  be  kind." 

Then  followed  Inez'  narrative  of  her  home  life ; 
her  father,  mother,  brothers  and  sisters ;  her  Nor- 
mal School  and  her  work  and  ambitions.  The 
narrator  was  interested  in  her  subject  and  Ray- 
mond Van  Everett,  whatever  his  faults,  was  much 
too  polite  to  seem  disinterested  even  had  he  felt  so. 
But  he  seemed  to  be  as  interested  almost  as  Inez 
herself  and  caught  the  inspiration  of  the  work, 

[43] 


TAMING    A    VAQUERO 

too,  for  with  her  concluding  words  he  exclaimed 
excitedly,  "Oh,  I  wish  I'd  gone  to  that  school ! 
What  great  workers  you  were !  But  didn't  you 
ever  have  any  larks?"  Divulging  the  fact  that 
his  school  life  was  largely  made  up  of  "larks." 

"We  never  had  time  for  larks.  We  were  too 
anxious  to  finish  and  get  our  diplomas  and  come 
to  this,"  answered  Inez,  and  there  was  bitterness 
in  her  tones  as  she  said  it.  "But  here  we  are 
home.  I'm  hungry  as  the  proverbial  bear,  and 
supper  is  on  the  table,  I  see,"  she  concluded  gayly 
as  they  entered  the  house. 

"And  my  story  will  keep,"  said  Raymond, 
softly,  as  he  helped  remove  her  raincoat.  "That 
was  a  lovely  walk,  only  too  short." 

Inez  was  a  few  minutes  late  to  her  dinner  and 
all  were  seated  when  she  entered. 

"You  people  choose  lovely  evenings  to  prom- 
enade," remarked  Sydney  as  she  seated  herself. 
"The  mud's  only  about  a  foot  deep." 

"I  didn't  mind  the  mud  at  all,"  answered  the 
ever  ready  Raymond.  "Inez  is  such  good  com- 
pany that  it  was  easy  to  forget  it  was  raining. 
I  actually  thought  the  sun  was  shining,"  he  ran 
on,  while  Inez  blushed  at  his  speaking  her  name 
so  plainly  before  everyone  and  a  titter  ran  around 
the  table  while  the  irrepressible  Sydney  burst  out 
with: 

"Inez?     That  is  a  good  one.     I  think  you'd 

[44] 


A    WALK    AND    WHAT    CAME  OF    IT 

better  give  an  account  of  yourself,  Van.  Things 
look  pretty  serious,"  and  Inez  felt  his  eyes  upon 
her,  but  never  looked  his  way.  She  was  angry  at 
Raymond.  What  a  blundering  dunce  he  was, 
without  an  ounce  of  tact. 

Sydney  continued  to  jest  during  the  whole  of 
the  meal  and  though  Inez,  with  an  effort,  ap- 
peared calm  and  composed,  she  was  inwardly 
striving  with  a  strong  desire  to  box  Raymond 
Van  Everett's  ears  and  never  speak  a  kindly  word 
to  him  again,  while  Raymond  listened  with  a 
"proud  of  himself  air"  to  the  raillery,  and  was  so 
attentive  to  her  that  Inez  felt  a  disgust  of  him 
creep  over  her.  "The  silly,  conceited  puppy !"  she 
thought,  "assuming  such  an  air  of  proprietorship 
over  me.  He  deserves  to  be  made  a  laughing- 
stock." 

The  uncomfortable  meal  ended  at  last,  they 
repaired  to  the  "big  room"  and  as  Inez  seemed 
about  to  go  immediately  to  her  room,  Raymond 
stopped  her  with,  "Stay  and  talk  awhile,  do," 
bending  toward  her. 

"I've  work  to  do  now,  Raymond,  I'm  too  busy," 
was  the  rather  brusque  reply,  and  turning  to 
enter  her  room,  she  saw  Sydney  Wilson  looking 
at  her  with  a  queer  look  in  his  big  brown  eyes. 

He  had  seen  and  misinterpreted  her  manner 
Inez  felt  sure,  probably  heard  part  of  her  answer, 
and  from  Raymond's  actions  thought  the  Lord 

[45] 


TAMING    A    VAQUERO 

knows  what  of  her.  And  poor  Inez  sobbed  her- 
self to  sleep  that  night ;  and  the  wind  sobbed  and 
dashed  the  rain  against  the  window  and  she  could 
hear  the  swish,  swish  of  the  trees  as  the  storm 
beat  them  up  and  down  upon  the  roof. 


[46] 


CHAPTER    X 

FORGIVE    ME  !       I    LOVE    YOU  ! 

Inez  kept  her  room  very  closely  the  days  follow- 
ing this  incident  and  concluded  she  would  not 
be  friendly  with  Raymond  Van  Everett.  He 
took  too  much  for  granted  and  was  not  at  all 
a  desirable  companion.  The  disgust  she  felt  for 
him  that  evening  stayed  with  her  and  his  tender 
insinuating  manner  was  a  constant  reminder  of 
the  same  feeling. 

The  rain  had  ceased,  and  as  Inez  was  taking 
her  evening  walk  out  through  the  garden,  the 
back  way  (to  avoid  Van  Everett),  she  saw  the 
moon  come  out  full  and  bright  between  the  masses 
of  white  billowy  clouds  seemingly  chasing  each 
other  across  the  sky.  What  a  lovely  world  it  was 
if  one's  heart  did  not  ache ! 

Opening  the  gate  under  the  deep  shadow  of  the 
overhanging  tree,  Inez  saw  an  arm  stretched  out 
to  stay  her  approach.  She  did  not  scream,  for 
Inez  was  not  timid,  but  she  started  back  out  of 
reach  of  the  outstretched  arm  and  a  voice — Syd- 
ney Wilson's  voice — almost  cried,  "Wait!  I  will 
not  hurt  you.  I  will  not  touch  you.  Wait  one 
minute  and  hear  me." 

"Sydney  Wilson,  out  of  my  path,  sir.  What 
do  you  mean  by  such  conduct?" 

[47] 


TAMING    A    VAQUERO 

But  falling  on  his  knees  before  her  and  clasping 
the  edge  of  her  tiny  apron,  his  voice  husky  with 
pain  and  passion,  Sydney  pleaded,  "Oh,  my  little 
darling,  do  forgive  me.  I  do  not  deserve  for- 
giveness at  your  hands.  I  am  a  rough,  wild 
brute  at  best.  But  I  love  you,  I  love  you.  Do  not 
treat  me  so  coldly.  I  know  I'm  dirt  under  your 
feet,  but  I  cannot  bear  this.  You  have  not  spoken 
to  me  for  a  month.  I  don't  blame  you — but  if 
you'll  only  forgive  me  now.  Will  you,  Inez  ?  " 

"Mr.  Wilson,  do  get  up.  Do  not  kneel 
there,"  pleaded  Inez. 

"No,  no,  I'm  here  in  the  dirt  at  your  feet. 
Where  I  ought  to  be  to  beg  you  forgiveness  for 
my  insults  and  brutishness." 

"You  know,"  and  there  were  tears  in  the  sweet 
voice,  "I  wanted  to  be  friends.  I  never  dreamed 
of  your  so  misunderstanding  me.  Perhaps  I  was 
to  blame,"  inquiringly,  "but  I  did  not  mean  it 
so.  I  was  just  lonesome  and  wanted  friendship 
and  sympathy.  There  was  no  one  but  you." 

"I'm  a  brute,"  he  said  huskily,  "but  you  will 
forgive  me  ?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  and  she  offered  her  hand  which  was 
taken  tenderly  in  both  of  his  as  he  rose  and  stood 
beside  her. 

He  bent  and  kissed  the  hand  he  held  and  Inez 
saw  his  shoulders  twitch  with  emotion  and  a 
big  tear  fall  on  the  hand  he  held.  Then  she  placed 
[48] 


FORGIVE    ME! 

her  other  hand  upon  his  head  and  patted  the  dark 
hair  so  dear  to  her  and  so  near  yet  she  felt  so 
impossible,  then  "Sydney,"  she  said,  "let  us  be 
friends  after  this  and  not  be  fighting  each  other," 
smiling  through  her  tears. 

"Sure  Mike !  That's  what  we'll  be.  But  can't 
we  be  more  than  friends,"  pleadingly. 

"Oh,  Sydney,  don't,  or  I'm  afraid  we  can't 
be  friends.  What  you  ask  is  quite  impossible  and 
I  must  be  going  in,  so  good  night,"  and  she  was 
gone. 

But  not  to  rest  and  sleep.  Was  there  mes- 
merism in  the  touch  of  his  hands  on  hers, 
his  tears,  his  kisses?  Oh,  Sydney  Wilson,  you 
can  never  know  what  they  meant  to  the  girl 
who  loved,  yea  worshiped  almost  as  an  idol 
your  unworthy  clay. 

Was  it  a  curse?  What  was  this  delirious  joy 
of  feeling  once  more  his  presence,  of  hearing 
his  voice  breathe  his  love  for  her?  And  yet,  the 
bitter  ever  mingled  with  the  sweet.  They  must 
part.  They  could  be  no  more  to  each  other. 
She  knew  in  her  inmost  soul  they  could  not  be 
happy.  She  could  not  give  herself  away  to 
one  she  felt  was  unworthy. 

And  she  walked  the  floor  with  clenched  hands 
as  she  strove  to  conquer  her  erring  heart.  "I 
must  overcome  this.  I  must  give  him  up.  I 
cannot  yield  and  bequeath  to  myself  and  him  a 

[49] 


TAMING    A    VAQUERO 

life  of  unhappiness,  if  not  of  misery,  and  I  know 
that  would  follow.  Oh,  God,  help  me !  My  heart 
is  broken,"  and  crouching  beside  the  bed  she  sat 
with  her  face  buried  in  her  hands,  suffering  as 
only  such  proud  spirits  can  suffer.  She  neither 
cried  nor  moaned,  but  her  heart  seemed  to  weep 
drops  of  blood. 

And  that  night,  that  beautiful  moon,  his  tender 
timid  caresses,  his  words  of  loving  endearment 
and  tears,  Inez  will  remember  until  her  dying  day. 


[50] 


CHAPTER   XI 

SHE    GOES    HOME   TO   TELL    FATHER    GOOD-BYE 

The  week  following  that  night's  events  was  a 
comparatively  easy  one  to  Inez.  Raymond  Van 
Everett  was  gone  most  of  the  time  at  the  mines 
and  Sydney  was  almost  his  saucy  self  again. 
Out  across  the  plains  could  be  heard  his  whistle 
again  and  about  the  corrals  morning  and  evening 
his  voice  was  heard  singing  softly,  "Down  in  My 
Heart  I've  a  Feelin'  for  You,"  and  "In  the  Shade 
of  the  Old  Apple  Tree." 

A  peace,  unlike  the  tumult  that  had  raged  so 
long,  filled  Inez'  heart,  yet  there  lay  a  fear  also, 
a  fear  that  this  could  not  last.  "It  is  too  good  to 
be  true,"  she  murmured  to  herself.  "Something 
will  happen." 

Something  did  happen ! 

One  evening  as  Inez  was  coming  from  a  call 
at  a  neighbor's  she  met  Raymond  Van  Everett 
coming  toward  her  swiftly  as  if  the  bearer  of 
evil  tidings.  She  hurriedly  advanced  to  meet  him, 
then 

"Oh, what  is  it, Raymond?"  she  asked  anxiously. 

"Oh,  Miss  Hardin — Inez,  I  am  so  sorry,  but 
word  has  just  come  that  your  father  is  dead." 

"My  father  dead?  Oh,  what  shall  I  do?  What 
shall  I  do?"  she  gasped. 

[51] 


TAMING    A    VAQUERO 

"Come  with  me,  Inez,  come  to  the  house,'.'  he 
answered  gently. 

"Oh,  yes,  I  must  hurry.  I  must  take  this  stage 
home,"  and  she  almost  ran  for  the  house. 

Once  there,  she  packed  a  few  things  into  a 
small  suit-case  and  dressed  herself  warmly  for 
her  night's  ride.  In  ten  minutes  she  was  ready, 
in  fifteen  she  was  in  the  rough  "mud-wagon" 
on  her  way  over  the  snowclad  mountain  on  her 
sixty-mile  stage  trip. 

Can  I  describe  to  you  that  night's  experience 
to  the  heartbroken  girl  ?  Her  father,  her  idolized 
father,  he  was  dead — dead !  But  she  must  go  to 
him.  To  those  who  were  left.  How  they  needed 
her  now.  Oh,  that  she  was  there ! 

And  on  and  on  rolled  the  stage ;  first  came  the 
supper  station  where  the  driver  and  other  pas- 
sengers ate  and  laughed — laughed.  How  could 
they  laugh?  Then  on  their  way  again.  The 
stage  creaked  and  crawled  up  hill ;  groaned  and 
sped  down.  Would  they  never  get  there  ?  Would 
the  night  never  pass? 

At  the  first  streaks  of  the  gray  dawn  they  rolled 
into  another  station.  Here  they  breakfasted  and 
changed  the  "mud-wagon"  for  a  coach,  waiting 
it  seemed  to  Inez  an  almost  unbearable  time.  She 
could  bear  the  motion,  but  to  wait — that  was 
well-nigh  impossible. 

The  stage  started  again  and  Inez  was  relieved. 
[52] 


SHE   GOES   HOME   TO  TELL   FATHER  GOOD-BYE 

Once  only  did  the  driver  speak  to  her.  The 
passengers  had  climbed  off  to  walk  up  a  hill. 

"Are  you  going  to  the  valley  out  of  the  snow, 
too?"  he  enquired  respectfully. 

"I'm  going  down  to  my  father's  funeral," 
answered  Inez,  with  a  break  in  her  voice. 

"Oh,  I'm  so  sorry!  I  never  knew,"  he 
answered  apologetically,  "I'm  sorry  I  spoke." 

"That  is  all  right,"  replied  our  heroine. 
"You  have  done  no  harm  and  need  not  apologize." 

"It  is  what  comes  to  us  all,"  he  went  on,  in  a 
lowered  voice,  "and  you  must  bear  up." 

"Yes,  it  comes  to  each  of  us  and  the  most 
needful  thing  is  to  be  prepared  for  it  when  it 
comes — as  my  father  was.  No  one  could  have 
been  better  prepared  than  he.  His  life  was  well 
spent,  his  aim  to  serve  God  and  his  fellow  men. 
History  may  not  record  my  father's  life.  It  is 
not  necessary;  his  record  is  written  in  the  Book 
of  Life." 

"I  have  heard  of  him.  Such  lives  make  this 
a  better  world  and  such  men  as  me,  better  men. 
I'm  glad  you  have  spoken  of  him  to  me,"  then  he 
relapsed  into  silence  and  silence  was  kept  the  en- 
tire day  but  for  the  words  of  cheer  spoken  to 
the  horses  ever  and  anon. 

Inez  communed  with  herself  and  with  God. 
Never  had  the  great  beyond  opened  so  near  to 
her,  never  had  death  come  so  near,  never  had 

[53] 


TAMING    A    VAgUERO 

she  prayed  with  such  fervor  and  with  such  faith. 

But  the  long-  weary  day  came  to  a  close  at 
last  and  leaving  the  stage  she  crossed  the 
familiar  stile  and  the  old  foot-bridge,  walked  into 
the  kitchen  and  found  herself  with  her  arms 
about  her  mother  saying,  "Mother,  mother, 
don't  cry,  mother.  I  am  here.  I  will  help  you 
bear  it." 

Then  the  little  ones  gathered  around  her  cry- 
ing, "Sister,  oh  sister,  papa  is  dead."  And  she 
kissed  them  and  wiped  away  their  tears.  Then 
after  putting  up  her  wraps,  whispered  to  a  dear, 
good  neighbor  woman,  who  stood  pityingly  by, 
"May  I  see  him,  please?" 

Uncovering  the  beloved  face  she  stood  look- 
ing at  him,  then  falling  on  her  knees  she  wept 
and  prayed  for  herself.  On  her  knees  she  vowed 
to  be,  with  God's  help,  all  "father"  would  have 
had  her  be  and  with  a  kiss  on  his  dear  dead  brow 
she  left  him  sleeping  with  a  smile  of  heavenly 
peace  on  his  face. 


[54] 


CHAPTER  XII 

BACK   TO    LONESOME    GLEN 

Several  weeks  elapsed  before  Inez  again  left 
home  to  go  to  her  unfinished  work.  She  dreaded 
yet  longed  to  go. 

Not  a  word  had  come  from  Sydney,  not  one 
expression  of  sympathy  even.  But  Raymond 
Van  Everett  had  been  profuse  in  expressions  of 
condolence  and  Inez  had  answered  his  kindly 
letters  as  a  matter  of  course. 

Arriving  again  at  the  boarding  house  she  was 
met  by  Raymond  and  taken  to  the  house. 
Everywhere  she  was  met  and  cared  for  by  Ray- 
mond; he  seemed  to  be  her  ghost,  so  closely  did 
he  follow  her. 

This  irritated  Inez,  yet  she  did  not  wish  to  be 
harsh  and  irritable  toward  him  and  kept  much 
to  herself.  This  was  also  because  she  did  not  feel 
like  taking  part  in  the  gaieties  and  gatherings 
there  as  well  as  to  avoid  Raymond. 

Sydney  had  not  deigned  to  even  notice  her 
since  her  return.  She  could  not  understand  him. 
He  acted  as  if  Inez  had  offended  him  and  was 
more  insulting  than  ever  in  his  actions,  by  cut- 
ting off  any  offer  of  friendship  from  her  until, 
hurt  and  almost  angered  by  his  treatment  of  her, 
Inez  became  mute. 

[55] 


TAMING    A    VAQUERO 

The  loss  of  her  almost  idolized  father  was 
nearly  unbearable  and  this  was  already  breaking 
her  heart. 

"Never  mind,"  she  said  to  herself,  "it  is  only 
making  my  part  easier  for  me  after  all.  We 
could  never  be  anything  more  to  each  other  any- 
way. One  more  bitter  drop  in  my  already  over- 
flowing cup  will  not  make  much  difference." 

The  persecutions  of  Van  Everett  were  fewer. 
He  was  busy.  The  big  mill  and  house  were 
being  built  and  he  was  overseeing  it  all. 

"You  must  come  over  and  see  it,  Inez,"  he 
repeatedly  said  to  her.  "We  want  the  benefit  of 
your  criticism  and  taste." 

Why  the  Mining  Co.  should 

desire  any  assistance  from  her  remains  a  mys- 
tery to  Inez  to  this  day.  She  never  went.  She 
never  wanted  to  go,  never  intended  to  go,  never 
promised  to  go.  Why  should  she  go?  And  she 
didn't. 

The  long  spring  days  were  coming.  The 
flowers  were  out  on  the  plains  and  hillsides. 
These,  with  the  little  ones,  were  her  companions 
during  these  hard  days  of  hers. 

But  Van  Everett,  the  easy  going,  self-indulgent 
son  of  fortune,  in  the  meanwhile  what  hopes 
had  he  laid,  what  dreams  had  he  dreamt  of  pos- 
sessing the  lady  of  his  fancy.  In  his  self-satisfied 
[56] 


BACK    TO    LONESOME    GLEN 

mind  he  had  not  a  doubt  but  Inez  would  accept 
his  suit  when  it  became  him  to  offer  it. 

"We're  the  same  as  engaged,"  he  confided  to 
Sydney.  "Of  course  we  will  have  it  announced 
later,  after  a  decent  respect  is  paid  her  father. 
Lord,  I  wish  we  were  married  today,  but  girls 
always  want  to  wait  and,  of  course,  under  the 
circumstances  I  humor  her." 

"It  didn't  take  you  long  to  fix  it  up  with  her, 
it  seems  to  me,"  answered  Sydney. 

"You'll  le^arn  all  about  it  after  a  while.  You 
see,  old  chap,  I've  been  in  the  business  for  sev- 
eral years,  since  I  was  sixteen.  Never  had  any- 
thing to  do  much  only  amuse  myself  and  the 
sweet  things  like  me,  so  it  was  easy." 

"Miss  Hardin  doesn't  strike  me  as  the  average 
'sweet  thing,' "  remarked  Sydney,  dryly.  "And 
I  might  add  that  the  expression  would  be  the 
last  I'd  apply  to  my  affianced  wife." 

"Oh,  of  course,  Inez  is  different.  Wouldn't 
marry  her  if  she  wasn't,  but  experience  helps  a 
fellow  to  win  a  girl  like  her." 

"Money  helps,  too,  I  reckon,"  was  the  sar- 
castic reply. 

"There's  where  you're  off  about  Inez.  She's 
refused  every  offer  of  mine  to  make  her  a  pres- 
ent. That  bothered  me  some,"  in  an  aggrieved 
voice.  "She  wouldn't  let  me  bring  her  a  thing. 
[57] 


TAMING    A    VA£UERO 

When  I  was  going  to  the  city  I  asked  her  if 
she'd  rather  have  a  solitaire  diamond  ring  or  a 
cluster.  She  drew  up  her  shoulders,  and  said 
with  that  flash  in  her  eyes,  'I  would  accept 
neither,  you  may  be  sure.  Do  not  insult  me  by 
such  offers.'  Of  course,  I  said  I  would  do  as 
she  wished,  that  I  never  meant  to  insult  her. 
She  has  some  queer  democratic  notions.  I  must 
humor  them  now,  you  understand." 

"Mighty  funny  she  refused  an  engagement 
ring.  Maybe  she  doesn't  believe  in  wearing  'em, 
though,  and  if  she  doesn't  nothing  under  heaven 
would  make  her  wear  one,  the  Lord  knows," 
replied  Sydney,  with  the  air  of  a  man  who  is 
tired  of  the  subject. 

"Well,  I  wish  she  wasn't  so  queer  that  way 
for  I  planned  all  sorts  of  little  pleasure  trips  for 
this  summer  and  I'm  afraid  almost  to  mention 
them.  Wanted  to  go  down  and  get  Madame,  my 
mother,  and  Sis,  then  all  go  to  the  coast  for  a 
month  or  so.  Now,  if  Inez  won't  go  I  can't  stand 
it.  Say,  Syd,  couldn't  you  speak  to  your  mother 
and  see  if  she'll  ask  Inez  about  it.  Tell  her  it's 
quite  the  thing,  you  know,  and  she  owes  it  to  her 
health  to  go  along.  Something  to  that  effect.'' 

"Oh,  come  off,  come  off,"  expostulated  Sydney. 
"I  couldn't  do  anything  of  that  sort.  Not  on 
your  life,  Van !  I'd  make  a  mess  of  it,  and  if  she 

[58] 


BACK    TO    LONESOME    GLEN 

suspected  my  having  a  hand  in  it  she'd  sure  not 
go.  Hates  me  worse'n  poison.  Settle  your  own 
spats  with  your  fiancee.  Don't  call  on  me,"  and 
off  he  went  for  the  big  pasture  to  see  about  the 
"steers." 

Had  Inez  heard  of  this  or  any  of  the  several 
like  conversations  of  Van  Everett  to  Sydney  and 
various  others  at  the  boarding  house  during  her 
absence  and  since  her  return  she  would  have  un- 
derstood Sydney  Wilson's  attitude  toward  her- 
self and  she  could  have  done  nothing,  would 
have  done  nothing,  for  among  her  faults  was  a 
pride  that  forbade  any  explanation. 

She  was  wrapped  in  sorrow  and  longing  for 
her  father,  harassed  with  cares  and  work,  broken- 
hearted. If  she  could  have  seen  Sydney  living 
down  disappointment,  making  a  man  of  himself 
in  spite  of  her,  proving  worthy  a  true  woman's 
love;  could  she  have  seen  this  even  if  she  knew 
his  life  and  hers  must  forever  run  apart,  she 
could  have  rejoiced.  But  to  see  him  daily  cursing 
and  rough  and  reckless  of  his  life  as  he  rode  or 
drove  about  as  if  he  entirely  disregarded  the 
blessing  of  life.  And  in  her  heart  she  longed  to 
help  him,  to  speak  encouragement  to  him,  to 
cheer  him  with  her  friendship.  But  loving  him 
as  she  did  she  could  not,  and  though  her  heart 
cried  out — 

[59] 


TAMING    A    VAQUERO 

"I  could  die  if  thou  wouldst  live, 
In  a  diviner  mood," 

Yet  she  must  suffer  in  silence  and  pray  in 
agony  that  he  might  see  the  "higher  and  better 
way." 


[60] 


CHAPTER  XIII 

SYDNEY   MEETS   WITH   AN   ACCIDENT 

A  spring  snow-storm,  such  as  comes  sometimes 
in  the  Coast  Ranges  of  the  Pacific  Coast  raged 
furiously  during  the  night,  and  next  morning  the 
mountains  were  covered  several  inches  with  the 
"beautiful." 

The  men  from  the  camps  and  the  ranches  col- 
lected at  the  boarding  house  for  a  hunt. 

"The  deer  will  be  thick.  Let's  go  out  and  kill 
a  few,"  was  the  word  everywhere. 

After  cleaning  and  adjusting  different  parts  of 
their  trusty  rifles  they  were  off  to  the  mountains 
riding  their  "cayuses"  up  to  the  thick  snow,  then 
tying  up,  and  plunging  by  twos  and  threes 
into  the  dense  wood  where  ranged  the  crafty 
bush-buck. 

The  day  passed  and  evening  was  closing  in 
the  more  speedily  because  of  the  heavy  clouds 
hanging  low. 

All  were  anxiously  awaiting  the  return  of  the 
hunters  and  commenting  on  their  various  skill 
in  shooting,  when  a  loud  "Whoa !"  caused  every- 
one to  look  out. 

Soon  Mr.  Jones,  a  neighbor  rancher,  came  up 
and  asked  for  a  lantern  and  for  Mrs.  Wilson. 
[61] 


TAMING    A    VAQUERO 

She  came  out  at  once  and  he  said,  "Mrs.  Wil- 
son, don't  be  scared,  but  Syd  has  had  a  tumble 
and  I  came  to  get  the  little  wagon  to  bring  him 
home." 

"Oh,  is  he  badly  hurt?  What  shall  we  do?" 
she  cried  excitedly,  for  this  reprehensible  Sydney 
was  the  pride  of  his  mother's  heart. 

"No,  no !  Just  shook  up  a  little  and  has  a 
knee  sprained.  He'll  be  all  right,"  was  the  reply 
as  he  hurriedly  lighted  the  lantern  and  went  to 
the  barn. 

Mrs.  Wilson  hurried  back  into  the  little  sitting 
room  where  the  hired  girl,  Cora,  Rosie,  Miss 
Hardin,  and  the  little  ones  sat  dumb  with  fear, 
and  sinking  into  a  chair  began  sobbing  hys- 
terically. 

Rosie,  too,  began  crying  and  the  little  ones  to 
weep,  frightened  at  seeing  their  mother  and  sister 
so  overcome. 

Inez,  with  her  heart  standing  still,  it  seemed  to 
her,  calmed  the  children  with  her  steady,  "Hush, 
children,  don't  cry.  You  mustn't  trouble  mother 
now.  Rosie,  come  let  us  a  get  a  bed  ready.  They 
will  be  here  soon  and  we  must  be  prepared.  Mrs. 
Wilson,  calm  yourself.  Mr.  Jones  said  he  wasn't 
much  hurt." 

"But  he  couldn't  ride  his  horse.  They  had  to 
come  for  the  wagon.  Sydney  would  never  give 
[62] 


SYDNEY    MEETS    WITH    AN    ACCIDENT 

up  so  easily  if  he  wasn't  nearly  killed.  He  is  so 
plucky,"  cried  the  poor  mother. 

"We  must  hope  for  the  best.  Never  cross 
the  bridge  until  you  come  to  it,  Mrs.  Wilson.  I 
shouldn't  give  you  advice,  I  know,  but  you  must 
bear  up  in  this  emergency,"  continued  the  steady 
voice,  never  faltering. 

"I  know,  and  I  must  get  the  bed  ready  my- 
self. I  do  not  need  help,  Miss  Hardin,  thank 
you,"  as  Inez  prepared  to  assist  her,  "but  you 
may  help  Rosie  finish  the  supper." 

Never  was  supper  prepared  so  swiftly,  and 
while  waiting  for  the  men  Inez  won  a  place  in 
the  heart  of  the  young  girl  which  she  never  lost. 
With  a  desire  to  comfort  and  relieve  her  anxiety, 
forgetful  as  always  of  her  own  aching  heart, 
she  spoke  of  God's  plan.  How  not  one  sparrow 
fell  without  His  knowledge,  how  each  of  us, 
so  weak  and  unworthy,  were  always  within  the 
reach  of  His  protecting  arm — "I  only  know  I 
cannot  drift,  beyond  his  love  and  care,"  she 
quoted  and  continuing, 

"  'Like  as  a  father  pitieth  his  children,' 

He  is  our  Father  and  we  cannot  get  evil  at  His 
hands." 

Inez  loved  Rosie,  his  sister  (she  could  not  but 
love  all  that  belonged  to  him),  and  from  this 
night  on  that  love  was  reciprocated,  and  a  bond 
[63] 


TAMING    A    VAQUERO 

of  sympathy  wrought  between  them.  Oh,  mystic 
bond!  A  link  in  the  chain  of  love  eternal  was 
forged  then.  Who  can  estimate  the  value  of  one 
soul  united  to  another  by  love  and  sympathy? 
Inez,  thy  lonely  soul  need  be  lonely  no  more. 
Dear  heart,  God  sees  thy  loving  service;  in  His 
own  time  and  way  He  will  lead  thee  out  of  the 
darkness  of  sorrow  into  the  light  of  a  more  per- 
fect understanding  of  His  way. 

But  voices  are  heard  and  the  confusion  of 
tramping  feet.  At  the  door  his  mother  meets 
them  carrying  Sydney  carefully  on  a  rude  litter. 

"Oh,  don't  be  scared,  mama,  I'm  all  right," 
he  answered  roughly  to  her  anxious  inquiries, 
but  fainted  with  the  pain  as  they  placed  him  on 
the  bed. 

All  but  Mrs.  Wilson  and  one  of  the  older  men 
were  sent  from  the  room,  one  was  dispatched  for 
the  doctor  and  the  others  filed  into  the  wash- 
room, then  to  the  dining  room.  Inez  helped 
Cora,  the  hired  girl,  wait  on  table  as  poor  Rosie's 
face  was  tear-swollen  and  she  had  promised  to 
keep  the  children  quiet. 

Finally  the  meal  was  over,  the  children,  Rosie, 
the  hired  girl  Cora,  and  Inez  sat  down  to  eat. 
Inez  helped  all  the  children  and  led  the  conver- 
sation along  other  topics.  She  herself  ate 
nothing  but  drank  a  cup  of  tea  and  excused  her- 
[64] 


SYDNEY    MEETS    WITH    AN    ACCIDENT 

self.  Meeting  Raymond  in  the  hall  she  inquired 
if  Sydney  were  better  now  and  how  the  accident 
had  happened. 

The  party  of  three,  of  whom  he  was  one,  had 
struck  the  trail  of  a  big  buck  and  they  followed 
down  the  canyon  to  cut  him  off  in  his  circular 
path.  Sydney,  always  alert,  the  first  on  the  trail, 
catching  sight  of  him  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
deep,  seemingly  impassable  gorge,  sprang  lightly 
on  a  huge  rock  overhanging  the  edge,  the  bet- 
ter to  shoot,  and  taking  aim  had  just  fired  at  the 
deer  when  the  rock,  loosened  by  storms,  toppled 
over  and  both  rolled  to  the  bottom  together.  He 
was  unconscious  when  they  reached  him,  but  was 
soon  revived  by  the  applications  of  snow.  Jump- 
ing to  his  feet  he  called  out,  "I  killed  him,  boys. 
I  saw  him  fall  just  as  the  confounded  rock  turned 
me  down,"  then  with  a  groan  sank  back  to  the 
ground. 

One  of  the  men  helped  him  to  the  top  of  the 
gorge  and  another  went  for  his  horse.  Soon, 
however,  it  became  apparent  to  both  men  that 
spite  of  his  "grit"  he  could  ride  no  farther,  so 
one  had  come  home  for  the  wagon  as  recited 
before. 

Mr.  Jones  and  Mrs.  Wilson  would  stay  with 
him  that  night,  he  told  Inez,  and  he  added,  "You 
must  get  to  bed,  Iny,  you  look  like  a  ghost.  On 


TAMING    A    VAQUERO 

your  feet  all  day,  tormented  by  those  ignorant 
children  and  then  waiting  on  table  and  helping 
with  the  work;  I  wish  you  wouldn't  do  such 
things." 

"Such  things  are  very  necessary,  however, 
and  why  should  not  I  bear  my  part  of  the  bur- 
den of  life?  To  lighten  another's  burden  is 
surely  meritorious  and  not  disgraceful.  Per- 
haps, Mr.  Van  Everett,  you  had  best  judge  your 
own  duties  and  leave  me  to  judge  mine.  What 
I  do  is  certainly  nothing  to  you,"  was  the  answer 
rather  haughtily  and  certainly  not  patiently  said. 

"Don't,  Inez,  don't  speak  to  me  so.  I  didn't 
mean  to  hurt  your  feelings.  Don't  be  angry  with 
me.  Say  you  are  not  angry,"  he  persisted  child- 
ishly as  she  turned  away. 

"I'm  not  angry,  but  I'm  tired  and  wish  to  be 
let  alone.  Good  night,"  she  finished  abruptly 
and  went  into  her  room. 

And  in  that  room  she  knelt  in  speechless  agony. 
The  man  she  loved  better  than  all  the  world  be- 
side, better  than  life  itself,  lay  perhaps  dying  in 
the  next  room.  She  could  hear  his  moans  of 
pain,  his  muttered  curses,  but  was  debarred  from 
entering  the  room;  she  could  not  see  his  loved 
face  nor  smooth  his  fevered  brow.  How  she 
longed  to  take  his  dear  head  in  her  arms  and  pil- 
low it  on  her  breast  and  kiss  the  dear  lips  that 
[661 


SYDNEY    MEETS    WITH    AN    ACCIDENT 

she  could  still  feel  when  he  kissed  her  long  ago. 
Would  he  die?  He  must  not;  he  should  not; 
he  was  not  ready  to  die.  "Oh,  God,  save  him, 
save  him,  do  not  let  him  die.  Let  him  live  until 
he's  ready  to  die,"  she  prayed  in  silence  and 
agony  until  worn  out  by  her  over-exertions  of 
mind  and  body  she  sank  to  sleep  on  her  knees 
beside  the  bedside  and  dreamed  she  was  in  a  gar- 
den of  blooming  flowers  and  singing  birds  when 
Sydney  came  and  kissed  her.  The  kiss  waked 
her,  the  night  had  passed  and  the  dawn  was 
breaking  over  the  hills. 


[67] 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THEY  SPEAK  AGAIN 

The  time  seemed  long  and  dreary  as  day  by 
day  Inez  dragged  herself  to  school  and  mechan- 
ically performed  her  duties  during  the  week 
following  the  accident. 

Every  morning  and  evening  she  inquired  of 
the  anxious  mother  or  the  doctor,  perchance, 
of  the  condition  of  the  young  Nimrod.  All  were 
hopeful  of  no  permanent  injury,  yet  anxious  and 
fearful  lest  later  developments  should  show  in- 
ternal injury. 

So  the  week  passed  and  on  Friday  evening 
moving  about  in  the  "big  room"  Inez  was  startled 
by  a  faint  voice  calling,  "Mother!"  No 
answer.  Then  again,  "Mother,  is  that  you?" 
Inez  started  to  leave  the  room  in  search  of  her 
when  he  called  again,  "Bring  me  a  drink,  who- 
ever you  are?  I'm  confoundedly  thirsty.  Been 
asleep." 

So  filling  a  glass  with  water  Inez  opened  his 
door,  entered  tremblingly  and  offered  the  glass 
of  water. 

He  did  not  speak  but  drank  the  water  eagerly. 

"Shall  I  get  you  more?"  asked  Inez,  with  a 
tremor  in  her  voice. 

[68] 


THEY    SPEAK    AGAIN 

"No,  I  don't  want  you  to  bring  me  anything. 
I  didn't  know  it  was  you  or  I  shouldn't  have 
called.  Thought  you  were  at  school.  Sorry  I 
bothered  you,"  gruffly,  turning  away. 

"I  am  home  earlier  than  usual.  It  wasn't  any 
trouble  at  all.  I  was  glad  to  do  a  little  to  help 
you.  Are  you  not  feeling  better?" 

"I'm  all  right,"  with  a  flounce,  followed  by  a 
grimace  as  he  twitched  his  sprained  limb. 

"Oh,  you  have  hurt  your  limb.  Where  is  your 
mother?  I  am  so  sorry.  Let  me  call  her.  Can 
I  not  do  something  to  relieve  the  pain?"  im- 
ploringly. 

"Naw,  leave  me  alone.  I'm  all  right.  Don't 
care  if  I  kill  myself,"  with  another  flounce. 

"Oh,"  begged  Inez,  "pray  be  quiet  until  your 
mother  comes.  What  will  she  say  ?" 

"Don't  know  and  don't  care.    D d  if  I  can 

see  why  a  fellow  must  live.  I'd  rather  a  died. 
Hoped  I'd  be  killed  when  I  tumbled  and  I  hope 
I'm  hurt  internally.  Nobody  cares,"  bitterly. 

"Oh,  Sydney,"  and  the  words  were  wrung 
from  her  lips,  "don't — don't  talk  so." 

"Much  you  care,"  contemptuously,  "life  isn't 
worth  the  living  anyway.  The  sooner  I'm  out 
of  it  the  better  for  me." 

"But  for  me,"  and  she  reached  out  her  hands 
and  clasped  his  arm.    "You  know  I  care." 
[69] 


TAMING    A    VAgUERO 

"Hell!"  burst  from  his  lips  like  a  coal  of 
hissing  fire.  "Don't  stay  here  with  your  lies," 
and  with  a  look — a  look  Inez  never  forgot,  he 
shook  from  his  arm  her  clinging  hands. 

Motionless  she  stood  as  if  grounded  to  the 
spot,  her  tears  drying  on  her  cheeks.  But  the 
stunned  feeling  was  passing  and  she  thought 
rapidly.  She  was  cut  to  the  quick,  her  heart 
seemed  bursting,  but  pride,  her  indomitable  pride 
came  to  her  rescue. 

"Sir,"  she  said,  "that  is  the  last  insult  you  will 
ever  offer  me.  I  will  never  forget  it  nor  for- 
give you  as  long  as  we  both  shall  live.  Rest  as- 
sured I  shall  leave  you.  Rest  assured  I  shall 
trouble  you  never  again,"  and  with  the  air  of 
a  wounded  queen  she  turned  and  left  him. 

In  that  moment,  when  life  seemed  to  have  sud- 
denly turned  into  a  blank,  barren  oasis,  her  un- 
selfish lovable  nature  did  not  desert  her.  There 
was  no  anger,  no  desire  for  revenge.  She 
thought  first  of  his  comfort  and  straightway 
called  his  mother  in  even  audible  tone,  "Mrs. 
Wilson,  your  son  wants  you.  Can  I  not  help  you 
in  some  way?" 

"No,  thank  you,  Miss  Hardin;  you  have 
worked  so  hard  for  me  every  day  this  week. 
You  need  rest,"  was  the  answer,  in  a  grateful 
tone. 

[70] 


THEY    SPEAK    AGAIN 

The  night  was  stormy  and  Inez  was  glad.  She 
couldn't  bear  the  brightness  of  the  moon  nor 
stars  now.  She  could  not  go  outside  so  walked 
backward  and  forward  in  her  room  until  ex- 
hausted she  sank  into  a  chair  and  lighting  her 
small  lamp  started  to  study  a  volume  of  selec- 
tions for  elocution  work. 

Over  and  over  she  conned  the  thrilling  verse, 
dramatically  gesticulating  as  she  studied.  Never 
had  she  studied  so  hard  and  long  to  commit  a 
selection  to  memory;  never  was  it  so  hard  to  fix 
her  thoughts.  She  selected  tragedy,  for  was 
she  not  living  a  sterner  tragedy,  sterner  because 
real,  than  ever  tragedian  could  conceive  in 
fiction  ? 

She  did  not  shed  a  tear  that  night.  She  was 
beyond  tears.  Would  she  ever  cry  again,  she 
wondered.  She  seemed  to  have  drank  the  cup 
of  bitterness  to  the  very  dregs.  Her  pride  (and 
she  was  very  proud)  had  been  mortified  to  the 
utmost.  Could  she  ever  hold  up  her  head  again? 
How  she  suffered,  not  only  pride  but  wounded 
love  as  well.  She  had  loved  him  as  men  are  loved 
but  once  in  life.  All  her  young  faithful  heart 
had  gone,  unwittingly,  into  his  keeping.  Off 
her  guard  she  had  betrayed  to  him  her  devoted 
love  and  had  been  repulsed — cursed. 

She  could  not  pray.    Her  heart  seemed  dying 


TAMING    A    VAQUERO 

within  her  and  hour  after  hour  she  suffered  as 
only  a  proud  passionate  nature  can  suffer.  But 
unconsciousness  mercifully  closed  over  her  mind 
and  the  night  of  hideousness  passed  into 
oblivion. 


72 


CHAPTER  XV 

TAKING  UP  THE  BURDEN 

Next  morning  Inez  was  too  ill  to  rise.  Rosie 
and  Cora  strove  to  do  something  for  her  but  she 
answered,  "I'm  only  weak  and  tired,  girls;  I'll 
be  all  right  soon,"  so  they  left  her  to  her  own 
reflections  and  heartache. 

"Weak  and  tired,  I  think  I  am,"  mused  our 
heroine.  "I  never  gave  way  to  such  weakness 
before.  I  shall  rise  up  and  get  well.  No  one 
shall  ever  know !" 

So  resolving  she  arose  and  busied  herself  with 
her  duties,  so  by  Monday  she  was  cheery  and 
almost  hopeful  again. 

At  the  schoolhouse  that  morning  Inez  was 
seated  at  her  table  awaiting  the  opening  hour. 
The  children  were  playing  about.  She  could  hear 
their  shouts  of  laughter  and  merriment.  "Dear 
little  thoughtless  hearts,  so  free  from  care  and 
pain.  What  would  I  not  give  to  be  a  child 
again  ?" 

And  her  thoughts  traveled  back  to  those  dear, 
happy,  care-free  days  with  brothers  and  sisters 
at  play;  mother  and  father  to  guide.  Her  head 
bent  low  on  the  desk  and  soon  her  sobs  shook 
her  slight  frame. 

[73] 


TAMING    A    VAQUERO 

She  had  not  thought  of  her  surroundings,  of 
the  children.  But  Rosie  Wilson,  always  near 
teacher's  side,  came  in  just  then  and  seeing 
"teacher"  crying,  ran  to  her  with,  "Oh,  Miss 
Hardin,  what  is  it?  You  are  sick.  You  are 
not  able  to  teach."  But  Inez  sobbed  on  heart- 
brokenly  until  the  children  all  began  crowding 
around  and  she  became  aware  of  the  huddled, 
frightened  group  about  her;  for  indeed  her 
vehement  grief  would  have  frightened  larger  peo- 
ple than  these.  So,  checking  her  sobs  and  wiping 
her  tears  away,  she  replied,  "Oh,  no,  dears ;  I'm 
not  sick.  Don't  be  afraid!  I'm  just  homesick 
and  was  crying  for  my  mother.  Am  I  not  silly  ?" 
smiling  through  her  tears. 

Then  the  work  went  on  and  Inez  cried  no 
more.  Her  heart  ached  still  but  she  made  no 
sign  nor  moan  in  the  long  days  that  came  and 
went.  Only  if  one  had  been  a  close  observer  he 
would  have  seen  her  face  grow  paler,  day  by 
day,  and  thinner;  her  appetite  failed  her  almost 
entirely  and  her  cheery  laugh  was  a  thing  of  the 
past.  Her  conversation,  too,  fell  to  musing. 
Only  with  the  children  she  smiled  and  even 
talked.  If  ever  hearts  break,  Inez'  broke  that 
stormy  night. 

And  Sydney  ?  Sydney  improved  daily  and  was 
soon  about  with  a  share  of  invalid's  crossness 
[74] 


TAKING    UP    THE    BURDEN 

equal  to  that  of  the  proverbial  bear.  Did  he 
read  Inez'  suffering?  Perhaps  he  did,  but  he 
made  no  sign  only  to  speak  to  Van  Everett  thus, 
"You  needn't  be  a  rich  man,  Van,  to  feed  Miss 
Hardin.  She  doesn't  eat  anything,  anyway. 
She's  a  cheap  investment."  And  Inez,  over- 
hearing accidentally,  wondered  when  Van 
Everett  had  ever  "fed"  her  or  made  her  an 
"investment." 


[75] 


CHAPTER  XVI 

VAN    PROPOSES    BUT    INEZ    DISPOSES 

Sitting  by  the  center  table  in  the  big  room, 
endeavoring  to  collect  her  wandering  thoughts 
and  concentrate  them  on  a  new  book,  Inez  was 
annoyed  at  Raymond's  entering  and  seating 
himself  beside  her.  She  was  not  reading  but  kept 
on  trying  and  did  not  deign  to  notice  his  ap- 
pearance. 

Finally,  "Iny,"  he  said  low  and  softly. 

Inez  read  on  without  turning  her  head. 

"How  very  much  interested  you  must  be  not 
to  hear  me  come  in  and  speak  to  you,"  came  next 
and  he  took  the  book  from  her  hand  as  he  spoke. 

Then  at  her  look  of  impatience  he  said,  "I 
haven't  had  an  opportunity  to  speak  to  you  pri- 
vately for  so  long  I  was  delighted  to  see  you  sit- 
ting here  all  alone.  I  was  so  glad." 

Inez  waited  indifferently.  What  did  she  care 
whether  he  were  glad  or  sorry.  Bah!  He  was 
tiresome. 

"There  was  something  I  wanted  to  speak  about 
and  have  settled,"  he  began  pompously.  "There 
has  been  so  much  confusion  lately  and  you've 
been  worried  until  I  haven't  had  a  chance  to  say 
what  I  wanted  to." 

[76] 


VAN     PROPOSES    BUT    INEZ    DISPOSES 

"Well?"  interrogated  Inez,  rising  as  if  to 
leave  the  room. 

"Don't  go,  Iny,  sit  down.  I  want  you  to  wait 
until  I  finish.  You  see  I'm  a  pretty  patient  sort 
of  guy  and  I  haven't  rushed  things  as  I  wanted 
to.  I  want  to  know  when  you  can  marry  me? 
The  new  house  is  finished  and  our  suite  of  rooms 
will  suit  you,  I  think.  Now  I  want  to  go  over 
about  next  week  and  as  soon  as  school  is  out  I 
want  you  to  be  ready  to  go  to  San  Francisco 
with  me.  We'll  marry  there  and — " 

"What !"  demanded  Inez.  "What  do  you 
mean,  sir?  Marry  you!  What  delusion  are  you 
under?  I'd  as  soon  marry  one  of  my  school- 
boys. You  must  think  I'm  crazy.  I  never 
dreamed  of  such  a  thing." 

"Why,  Inez,  surely  you  saw  from  my  actions 
and  manner  that  I  loved  you.  I  thought  you 
knew  I  did." 

"Your  actions  and  manner!"  sarcastically.  "I 
have  noticed  neither  except  to  notice  they  were 
distasteful  to  me.  Let  us  have  no  more  of  this 
nonsense." 

"But  I  can't  stand  it.  You're  the  only  girl  1 
ever  wanted.  You  must  surely  love  me?"  in- 
quiringly. 

"Love  you !  I  most  certainly  do  not.  Why, 
you're  nothing  but  a  boy.  I  should  rather  think 

[77] 


TAMING    A    VAQUERO 

I  never  loved  you  nor  thought  of  the  like.  If 
ever  I  love  anybody  it  will  be  a  full-grown  man. 
I  shall  take  no  child  to  raise." 

"You'll  be  sorry  for  this,"  threateningly.  "I 
could  have  kept  you  in  luxury  and  would  have 
made  a  lady  of  you." 

"Sir !  I  am  a  lady  and  I  am  ashamed  and  em- 
barrassed to  have  listened  to  such  a  demonstra- 
tion of  childishness.  I  will  not  say  you  are  no 
gentleman  but  I'll  say  you  act  like  a  spoiled 
baby.  You  can  leave  my  presence  and  if  you 
wish  to  speak  to  me  again  learn  to  be  a  man." 

He  bounced  out  all  the  world  like  a  child  de- 
nied some  pleasure  and  left  Inez  laughing  at  the 
ridiculousness  of  the  situation.  "What  next," 
she  wondered.  "Well,  at  least,  he  will  annoy  me 
no  more." 


[78] 


CHAPTER  XVII 

GOODBYE,  LONESOME  GLEN 

May  Day  dawned  at  last.  Was  ever  May  Day 
so  fair,  so  beautiful,  as  this  May  Day  among  the 
California  mountains?  Inez  could  not  but  see 
the  green,  green  hills,  the  roses  blooming  in  such 
abundance;  could  not  but  hear  the  trilling  of 
birds  as  they  called  to  each  other  from  tree  to 
tree. 

But  her  heart  was  sad  as  she  wended  her  way 
to  the  schoolhouse  from  whence  came  the  merry 
shouts  of  young  voices.  How  could  she  but  feel 
sad  when  this  was  the  last  day  she  was  to  hear 
the  merry  voices,  her  last  day  at  Lonesome  Glen  ? 

She  wondered,  as  she  walked  her  lonely  path 
that  morning,  why  she  should  feel  sad.  Surely, 
it  would  be  more  consistent  of  her  to  be  glad  to 
leave,  glad  to  bear  no  more  of  what  had  come  to 
be  a  death  in  life.  But  she  loved  these  dear 
little  people  of  Lonesome  Glen,  thoughtless  and 
careless  though  they  were,  and  most  of  all  her 
heart  clung  to  Sydney  Wilson,  rough,  unkind, 
and  reckless.  It  was  of  him  she  was  thinking 
as  she  trod  the  solitary  trail  for  the  last  time. 

Once — only  once — was  her  reverie  broken,  and 
that  as  she  was  crossing  a  stream  near  the  road. 

[79] 


TAMING    A    VA9UERO 

When  about  half  way  across  a  horseman  gal- 
loped around  the  turn.  He  did  not  pause  as  the 
figure  of  Inez  met  his  eye,  but  galloped  on, 
splashing  her  white  dress  with  mud  as  he  crossed 
the  stream.  It  was  Sydney  Wilson ! 

The  last  report  was  finished,  the  last  lesson 
heard,  the  last  song  sung,  the  last  good-bye 
spoken,  and  Inez  was  alone  in  the  lonely,  lonely 
schoolroom.  She  walked  over  to  the  organ  and 
played  a  few  soft  chords  to  keep  up  her  courage 
until  Mrs.  Wilson  came  to  take  her  home  from 
school,  but  her  heart  was  too  full,  her  courage 
fled,  and  with  her  head  on  the  keyboard  Inez  wept 
for  the  little  ones  gone  out  of  her  life  forever, 
for  herself  and  "what  might  have  been." 

The  rest  of  that  day  was  like  a  dream  to  Inez. 
She  soon  was  on  her  way  home,  away  from 
Lonesome  Glen  forever,  and  that  night,  in  the 
village  some  miles  away,  with  her  head  in 
"mother's  lap,"  cried  long  and  bitterly  while 
mother  soothed  her,  as  only  mothers  can,  re- 
alizing that  here  was  a  grief  that  she  could  not 
quite  pet  away,  though  Inez  never  by  word  or 
sign  told  of  her  love  and  its  bitter  ending. 

The  next  day  and  the  next  went  by  as  they 
journeyed  homeward. 

In  her  arms  rested  the  little  sister,  pride  of 
Inez'  heart.  Though  her  arms  ached  with  the 
[80] 


GOOD-BYE,    LONESOME    GLEN 

strain,  Inez  would  not  give  her  up  to  her  mother, 
but  held  her  until  the  journey  was  ended  and 
they  were  "home." 


[81] 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THREE  YEARS  LATER 

It  will  not  be  unmeet  for  us,  considering  the 
lapse  of  time,  to  take  a  retrospect  and  see  for 
ourselves  why  "such  and  such"  is  so. 

There  are  no  words  to  portray  the  wretched- 
ness and  despair  following  Inez'  return  home. 
For  weeks  and  months  she  failed  daily,  drag- 
ging about  her  household  duties  from  day  to  day, 
finding  her  only  relief  in  her  solitary  wanderings 
away  from  mother  and  the  children,  alone, 
where  she  could  give  way  to  her  grief  unheard. 

But  Inez  did  not  give  up  utterly.  These  soli- 
tary wanderings  were  spent  in  communion  with 
herself;  always  she  condemned  her  weakness 
and  gathered  strength  to  resist  despair,  to  over- 
come failure. 

In  her  efforts  to  overcome  she  took  to  outdoor 
work.  The  cattle  needed  herding.  She  rode 
horseback,  herding,  day  after  day,  often  coming 
home  at  night  almost  unable  to  stand,  but  next 
morning  was  ready  for  the  saddle  again.  Hunt- 
ing, too,  was  another  pastime,  and  she  tramped 
the  long  valley  and  surrounding  hills  with  only 
the  dog  and  her  little  rifle  for  company.  The 
strenuous  exercise  made  her  sleep  well  and 
forget. 

[82! 


THREE    YEARS    LATER 

So  the  months  and  years  went  by.  Inez  was 
chief  support  and  counselor  for  her  mother. 
She  was  needed,  and  the  necessity  of  living 
added  to  the  joy  of  living.  Do  not  think  she 
conquered  in  a  few  months  or  in  these  years. 
She  did  not,  but  she  struggled  ever  upward  for 
the  victory,  every  hour  and  day.  Her  life  was 
colorless  and  prosaic.  Children  to  train,  mother 
to  counsel,  daily  work  and  care,  until  another 
school  called  her  into  a  snug  valley  dropped 
down  in  the  Sierras.  A  lovely  valley !  Through 
it  flowed  one  of  those  crystal-clear  mountain 
streams,  carrying  a  river-like  volume  of  water 
winter  and  summer,  while  on  each  side  spread 
out  a  green  valley  gently  sloping  toward  it. 

And  the  people !  Inez  can  never  forget  those 
dear  people.  They  were  so  good,  so  kind,  so 
broad-minded  and  unsuspicious.  "May  God's 
blessing  be  upon  them,"  is  her  loving  wish  and 
prayer  for  them. 

Here  for  two  years  she  labored  among  them, 
teaching  the  valley  school,  and  sending  out  boys 
and  girls  each  year  to  the  Normal,  High  School 
and  Business  College  to  equip  themselves  the 
better  for  life  and  its  work.  For  she  could  not 
live  and  conquer  day  by  day  without  putting  into 
the  lives  of  the  boys  and  girls  in  her  care  a  desire 
to  conquer. 

[83] 


TAMING    A    VAQUERO 

Now  it  is  vacation  and  she  is  home  once 
again.  The  dear  home  of  her  youth,  the  loved 
mother,  the  sisters  and  brothers  all  welcome  her 
back.  And  Inez  is  glad  to  be  home.  For  a  time 
she  enjoys  the  fellowship  of  dear  ones;  then  her 
old  restlessness  comes  over  her  again.  She  tries 
to  shake  it  off,  to  work  it  off,  but  seemingly  in 
vain,  until  a  letter  came  to  her  from  two  of  her 
boys  from  the  school  just  finished,  with  the 
proud  information  that  they  are  going  to  college. 

Impulsively,  Inez  declares  that  she  will  go 
down  to  the  railroad  and  tell  them  good-bye, 
and  is  soon  in  her  buggy  driving  toward  the 
near-by  town. 


[84] 


CHAPTER  XIX 
"FOR  OLD  TIMES'  SAKE" 

Sitting  at  the  table  in  the  parlor  of  the  leading 
hotel  of  the  little  city,  Inez  was  busily  writing  a 
letter  while  she  waited  for  the  arrival  of  the 
boys.  She  glanced  at  the  door  every  few 
moments  in  expectation.  She  was  alone  in  the 
room,  as  it  was  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  of  a 
warm  August  day  and  the  guests  were  mostly 
down  at  the  river  resort. 

While  she  was  thus  engaged  a  young  man 
walked  into  the  outer  office,  and  drawing  the 
register  toward  him  started  to  sign  his  name, 
when  a  low  whistle  of  surprise  found  its  way 
through  his  lips.  "By  George!  Inez  Hardin 
here,"  was  the  thought  framed  in  his  mind,  then 
signing  his  name  under  hers  with  the  remark 
under  his  breath,  "not  so  bad,  our  names  to- 
gether. Hum!  Quite  a  coincidence.  I  believe 
I'll  look  her  up." 

Inez  glanced  up  as  he  walked  into  the  room 
with  considerable  of  his  old  nonchalance.  She 
was  surprised,  but  because  of  her  past  victories 
was  able  to  meet  his  "Hello !  Why,  Miss  Hardin, 
who'd  have  thought,  of  meeting  you?"  with  a 
cold,  distant  bow,  not  even  deigning  to  notice  his 

[85] 


TAMING    A    VAQUERO 

outstretched  hand.  For  it  was  Sydney  Wilson ! 
After  three  years  of  scarcely  hearing  mention  of 
each  other  they  had  met  again. 

In  Inez'  mind  there  was  no  thought  of  relent- 
ing, no  intention  of  friendliness.  She  reinforced 
her  determination  with  a  thought  of  his  past 
brutality,  his  insulting  manner  toward  her,  his 
curses.  She  almost  shuddered  and,  with  the  hor- 
ror of  his  treatment  upon  her,  she  turned  coldly 
to  her  letter,  which  she  addressed  and  sealed. 

He  sat  down  on  the  other  side  of  the  table, 
watching  her.  Perhaps  he  read  something  of 
her  feeling  in  the  cold,  studied  expression  of  her 
face,  but  he  would  not  leave  her,  as  she  clearly 
desired  him  to  do.  Instead,  after  the  moment's 
intense  silence  following  his  advent,  he  spoke  in 
an  embarrassed  manner  unusual  to  him. 

"Inez — Miss  Hardin,"  he  stammered,  "you 
seem  to  have  forgotten  old  friends." 

No  answer.  Inez  busied  herself  putting  the 
stationery  in  the  box  and  closing  up  the  box. 

"Had  she  heard?"  he  wondered. 

He  tried  again.  "Aw,  I  say,  come  out  of 
that — !  Here,  I'm  trying  to  say  something 
agreeable  and  just  aching  to  know  what  you've 
been  doing  to  get  prettier  every  day  since  I  saw 
you  last  and  getting  your  mouth  closed  up  like 

an  oyster " 

[86] 


"FOR  OLD  TIMES'  SAKE" 

Her  eyes  flashed  fire  as  she  looked  straight 
across  the  table  at  him,  and  the  look  silenced 
him. 

He  fingered  the  box  on  the  table  nervously, 
and,  avoiding  her  eyes,  continued :  "Let  by- 
gones be  bygones  and  let's  be  friends  for  old 
times'  sake." 

Old  times?  A  lump  in  Inez'  throat  pre- 
vented her  from  answering  for  a  few  seconds, 
then  she  spoke. 

"Sir,  you  are  mistaken.  I  owe  you  nothing 
for  'old  times'  sake.'  Your  kindly  (?)  actions 
of  'old  times'  do  not  make  me  desire  to  renovate 
them.  Nor  shall  I.  If  you  desire  an  acquaint- 
ance with  me  let  that  acquaintance  begin  now. 
I  am  no  'old  times'  friend.  Do  not  mistake  me. 
I  would  those  times  were  blotted  out  of  my 
life." 

"Now,  now,"  he  broke  in,  in  his  old  way — 
the  way  that  made  Inez'  courage  almost  fail, 
"I  never  meant  to — to — what  can  I  say?  I'm 
willing  to  say  I  was  mistaken  about  several 
things.  Most  any  one  would  have  been  in  my 
place.  Isn't  that  enough?" 

"Yes,"  steadily,  "it  is  enough.  Quite  enough 
to  make  me  strongly  adhere  to  my  determination 
to  blot  those  days  from  my  life  forever." 

"Tarnation !     Your  memory's  too  good  alto- 

[87] 


TAMING    A    VAQUERO 

gather.  You  can't  mean  to  cut  an  old  friend 
altogether  because  of — of  things  no  one  was 
exactly  to  blame  for.  Come,  now !  You  know 
you  can't  be  so  mean,"  reaching  for  her  hand 
across  the  table. 

She  drew  back  as  if  his  touch  were  pollution, 
and  answered  in  a  suppressed  voice :  "Stop ! 
I  am  not  in  a  humor  for  conversation  with  you. 
I  mean  what  I  say  and  more.  /  shall  never 
forget!  Once  again,  drop  the  past  or  we  are 
strangers  and  worse  than  strangers.  For  a 
stranger  I  could  not  feel  the  repulsion  I  feel  for 
you.  You  have  never  been  honorable  in  your 
dealings  with  me,  you  have  not  acted  the  man, 
then,  nor  since.  You  have  not  lived  down  one 
single  unworthy  act,  but  glory  in  the  roughness 
and  brutal  satisfaction  of  having  caused  suf- 
fering. My  gentlemen  friends  must  be  men. 
I  neither  seek  nor  desire  your  friendship." 

"Aw,  go  it!  Throw  me  down.  Of  course, 
I'm  dirt  under  your  feet.  You're  educated. 
You're  'way  above  me.  Uhhuh !  That's  the 
way  you've  always  treated  me,  Miss  Inez 
Hardin.  Your  friends  are  gentlemen.  Oh,  yes, 
of  course." 

"There  is  no  use  my  explaining  to  one  who 
doesn't  wish  to  understand.  Taunts  are  childish 
weapons  and  we're  man  and  woman.  I  count 
[88] 


"FOR  OLD  TIMES'  SAKE" 

no  difference  in  station  or  learning.  You  know 
where  the  difference  lies.  While  you're  taunt- 
ing me  with  my  disparaging  your  station,  do 
not  forget  you  cursed  me  for  forgetting  mine, 
do  not  forget  that  you  made  our  friendship 
impossible." 

"Oh,  the — d — 1 !  You  want  to  quarrel. 
Didn't  I  say  let  bygones  be  bygones?" 

"And  I  said  we  would  begin  a  new  acquaint- 
ance if  any  at  all,"  calmly  decisive. 

"That  means  for  me  to  get  out,"  rising  from 
his  chair,  with  his  eyes  on  her. 

"As  you  please,  sir !"  coldly  polite. 

"Gosh  almighty!  I'll  be  switched  if  I  go," 
sinking  back  into  his,  seat.  Inez  walked  to  the 
street  door,  much  as  she  had  left  him  in  the 
sick-room  long  ago.  He  remembered,  and  he 
writhed  as  he  remembered. 

Just  then  the  door  opened  almost  in  her  face 
and  two  fresh-faced  boys  of  seventeen  or 
eighteen  came  in ;  seeing  her,  they  vied  with 
each  other  to  shake  hands  first,  but  she  solved 
the  problem  by  giving  each  a  hand  as  she  said, 
"George  and  Malcolm,  I  was  afraid  I'd  miss 
you." 

The  man  by  the  table  saw  her  face  soften  and 
glow  at  sight  of  them  and  her  old,  sweet  smile 
beam  out,  sweeter  than  of  old  as  she  looked 
[89] 


TAMING    A    VAQUERO 

joyfully  and  lovingly  on  them.  He  was  glad 
that  his  position  was  at  right  angles  from  them 
when  they  sat  down  on  a  divan,  one  on  each  side 
of  her. 

"Now,  boys,  let's  hear  all  about  this  lovely 
scheme  of  yours,"  she  smiled,  as  she  leaned 
back  among  the  cushions.  She  was  forgetting 
the  man. 

So  together  they  told  her,  first  one,  then  the 
other,  of  their  hopes  and  plans  and  aims. 

Then,  as  if  inspired,  she  told  them  of  the 
world,  of  its  temptations  and  snares  and  pitfalls. 
She  appealed  to  all  that  was  noble  and  true  and 
honorable  in  them.  She  pictured  their  respective 
families,  the  dear  old  father  and  mother,  who 
worshiped  the  one;  the  widowed  mother  and 
sisters  of  the  other.  In  her  voice  was  a  world  of 
entreaty,  of  love,  of  pleading  for  all  that  was 
upright  and  manly  and  righteous.  No  sniveling 
cant  to  shame  their  boy  hearts,  but  a  plain  talk 
of  plain  facts,  where  purposes  and  weaknesses 
were  shown,  the  one  in  its  beauty  often  so  hard 
to  follow ;  the  other  like  angels  of  light,  often  so 
easy  to  beguile. 

"My  boys,"  she  said,  "never  forget  that  to  be 

a  man  is  your  first  duty.     A  man  your  sister  is 

proud  to  call  brother;  a  man  whom  any  good 

woman  would  gladly  call  friend.     So  much  of 

[90] 


"FOR  OLD  TIMES'  SAKE" 

joy  for  yourselves  and  for  others  is  your  portion 
for  being  such  men,  while  a  wretched  life  for 
yourselves  and  misery  for  many  others  follows 
an  unworthy  life." 

Thus  she  talked  earnestly  on,  and  they  were 
encouraged  to  talk  freely  of  their  ideas  of  man- 
hood, why  she  tried  to  tell  them  how  they  would 
be  compassed  about  by  hundreds  who  thought 
only  of  selfish  interests  and  sordid,  brutal,  low 
lives.  They,  too,  had  found  many  already  who 
followed  brute  instinct.  They  understood;  they 
would  be  careful. 

"All  aboard  for  the  south-bound  train!" 
came  in  sonorous  tones  from  the  'bus  driver 
without,  so  with  a  good-bye  and  grips  of  the 
hand  which  nearly  paralyzed  their  teacher,  the 
boys  ran  for  the  'bus.  Inez  watched  them  out 
of  sight  with  dewy  eyes  and  a  low-breathed, 
"God  guide  them,  the  blessed  boys." 

Then  her  mind  came  back  from  the  boys  and 
long,  long  days  of  teaching  them  in  the  little 
gray  schoolhouse  in  the  green  upland  valley, 
and  of  the  others  still  being  taught  there;  came 
back  to  the  time  before  the  boys'  arrival  and  to 
the  man  at  the  table  still. 

Her  heart  stirred  as  she  saw  his  dejected  atti- 
tude. She  wondered  what  he  thought  of  her 
for  what  she  had  said  to  the  boys.  She  had 

[91] 


TAMING    A    VAQUERO 

spoken  out  of  the  fulness  of  her  heart  to  them. 
She  had  forgotten  him  and  her  grievances  in  her 
inspiration  on  their  behalf,  though  her  inspira- 
tion had  perhaps  been  born  of  the  longings  to 
have  him  the  man  she  had  striven  to  idealize. 

Slowly  she  walked  back  to  the  table  to  pick 
up  her  stationery,  preparatory  of  going  to  her 
room. 

He  did  not  look  up  as  she  approached,  but 
slowly  rising,  stood  before  her.  She  gathered 
up  her  box  to  go.  He  confronted  her. 

"Will  you  not  wish  a  new  acquaintance  suc- 
cess in  his  life — in  his  undertakings?"  he  asked, 
and  he  half  held  out  his  hand. 

Her  face  took  on  a  strong,  purposeful  look; 
in  her  eyes  was  no  faltering,  but  steadfast  re- 
solve as  she  answered :  "I  do,  with  all  my  heart. 
Never  doubt  it,"  and  she  clasped  the  hand  for  a 
brief  moment,  then  said,  "Good-bye,"  and  was 
gone  without  his  saying  a  word. 


92 


CHAPTER  XX 

TWO   LETTERS 

The  October  days  were  growing  shorter. 
Each  day  the  sun  seemed  to  set  nearer  and 
nearer  the  south.  Inez  was  reading  in  her  room 
overlooking  the  orchard  and  brown  meadows 
beyond,  where  the  sun  was  even  now  creeping 
behind  a  distant  hill.  A  loud  knocking  aroused 
her,  and  she  called,  "Who  is  it  ?  " 

"Only  me,  sis,"  was  her  biggest  brother's 
answer.  "Here's  a  letter  for  you,"  and  he 
tossed  it  in  her  lap  and  shut  the  door. 

She  looked  at  the  address  on  the  envelope. 
The  handwriting  was  unfamiliar.  She  slowly 
broke  the  seal  and  read: 

My  Dear  Teacher: 

I  just  feel  inspired  to  write  to  you  tonight. 

Firstly,  I  feel  as  if  I'd  neglected  you  shame- 
fully all  these  years,  and  I  want  to  renew  and 
strengthen  our  old  friendship.  And  secondly,  I 
want  to  thank  you  for  doing  so  much  for  us 
when  you  stayed  with  us  long  ago. 

Sydney  said  he  saw  you  in  town  not  long  ago 
and  he  thought  I  ought  to  let  you  know  I  hadn't 
forgotten  you.  As  if  I  could. 

[93] 


TAMING    A    VAQUERO 

Mamma  and  little  sister  are  well  and  I'm  so 
grown  up  you'd  never  know  me  in  the  world. 

And  oh,  Miss  Hardin,  you'll  be  so  glad,  I 
know,  to  hear  that  Sydney  has  gone  to  Berkeley 
to  attend  the  State  University.  He  just  took  a 
sudden  notion  he  wanted  to  go.  You  know  he 
always  made  fun  of  your  education.  But  I 
know  now  he  was  only  teasing  you.  He  used 
to  be  such  a  tease.  Do  you  remember?  ("Re- 
member?" thought  Inez.) 

There  is  no  news.    But  you  must  write  to  me 
soon  and  often  and  send  me  a  picture  of  you 
so  I  can  tell  how  you  look  now. 
Your  loving  friend, 

ROSIE  WILSON. 

P.  S. — Mamma  sends  her  love.  I  am  writing 
to  Sydney.  Shall  I  tell  him  anything  for  you 
next  time  ? 

A  smile  passed  over  our  heroine's  face  at  the 
naivete  last  words,  but  in  her  heart  was  a  joy 
unspeakable,  a  feeling  of  great  good  to  come  of 
this.  She  knew  it  wasn't  a  freak,  a  "sudden 
notion"  on  his  part.  He  was  a  man  of  twenty- 
four,  not  an  immature  boy,  and  she  hoped,  nay 
felt,  that  this  was  born  of  a  higher  and  better 
desire,  a  desire  to  be  a  "man,"  to  make  himself  all 
he  ought  to  be. 

[94] 


TWO    LETTERS 

And  when  she  went  again  to  her  school  near 
by  it  was  with  a  free  and  joyous  feeling  of  vic- 
tory and  success.  Her  inspiration  was  no  longer 
in  any  measure  forced  nor  her  enthusiasm 
strained. 

Teaching  school  was  unalloyed  joy  now. 
Did  the  children  catch  her  exuberant  enthu- 
siasm? They  seemed  to,  for  never  did  ma- 
chinery move  more  smoothly  than  these  sys- 
tematic enthusiasts,  fired  with  their  teacher's 
buoyant  air  of  victory. 

So  the  winter  glided  by  and  the  long,  rainy 
spring  opened  the  eyes  of  the  flowers  asleep 
under  the  snow. 

Still  it  rained  and  all  seemed  to  Inez  beautiful 
— the  green,  green  leaves  of  the  new-clad  trees, 
the  spring  flowers,  and  the  rain  dripping,  drip- 
ping through  and  upon  them. 

Through  this  misty,  murky  twilight  in  day- 
time came  her  brother,  again  bearing  a  letter 
with  strange  handwriting  upon  it.  He  knocked 
at  the  schoolhouse  door;  she  opened  it,  and  he 
handed  the  letter,  damp  from  the  dampness 
everywhere  present,  to  her,  and  as  quietly  left 
her  with  the  little  school. 

The  classes  were  busily  preparing  their  tasks; 
she  had  fifteen  minutes  before  her  first  class 
would  recite,  and  could  read  it. 

[95] 


TAMING    A    VAQUERO 

Dear  Friend  (it  ran)  I  am  simply  bubbling 
over  with  a  something  I  can't  keep  nor  under- 
stand. 

You  could  never  in  the  wide  world  guess 
what  it  is. 

But  you'll  die  of  curiosity  if  I  don't  come  to 
the  point. 

Prepare  to  be  astonished,  then.  Before  pro- 
ceeding I  must  tell  you  I  came  back  from  where 
I've  been  staying  for  these  nearly  three  years, 
and  what  do  I  hear  but  that  Sydney  Wilson  is  a 
university  student?  Will  wonders  never  cease? 

But  that  isn't  the  grand  something.  He  went 
last  fall,  so  I  expect  you've  heard  of  that. 

Now,  I  went  to  see  Mrs.  Wilson.  You  know 
I  loved  her,  though  I  didn't  think  much  of 
Sydney,  especially  of  the  way  he  teased  you, 
though  I  know  you  never  paid  any  attention. 

Of  course,  I  asked  about  Sydney.  They  had 
just  received  a  letter  in  which  he  told  them  about 
his  studies  and  everything.  But  now  for  it! 
He  actually  teaches  a  lot  of  little  vagabonds 
Saturday  and  Sunday  afternoons.  Regular  little 
street  gamins.  They  live  in  the  dirty  slums  and 
are  a  disreputable  lot.  He  wrote :  "I  am  trying 
to  teach  them  how,  in  spite  of  conditions  which 
are  too  horrible  to  describe,  they  may  still  be 
men  and  good  citizens;  trying  to  keep  them  out 
[96] 


TWO    LETTERS 

of  reform  school  and  penitentiary.  We  have 
regular  text-books  and  a  great  many  stories  of 
how  an  oppressed  boy  may  rise  into  a  great  man- 
hood. As  I  have  said,  George  and  Malcolm  are 
my  right-hand  men. 

Now,  doesn't  that  take  your  breath  away?  It 
makes  me  feel  stunned. 

Nothing  coud  surprise  me  now.  If  I  hear  that 
he  is  studying  theology  and  is  going  to  be  a 
"fire-eater"  preacher,  I'll  fold  my  hands  and  say, 
"Thy  will  be  done." 

I  know  you'll  scold  me  for  my  levity,  but 
pray  don't.  Think  of  the  shock  I've  had.  You, 
with  your  theory  of  "sermons  in  running  brooks 
and  good  in  everything"  will  not  experience  what 
has  been  the  fate  of 

Your  rattle-pated  CORA. 

Inez  read  and  reread  the  quotation  from  this 
letter,  then  glancing  at  the  clock  she  said,  from 
force  of  habit,  as  she  laid  the  letter  in  her  desk, 
"First  class,  reading." 

But  the  reading  was  like  the  sound  of  distant 
murmurs  to  her  ears.  Her  thoughts  had  flown 
away  and  away  to  her  "tamed  vaquero,"  and  in 
her  heart  was  a  deep,  restful  content,  the  content 
that  waits. 

THE    END 
[97] 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


NIl 

REC'D  LD-URl 

AU6  251993 


orm  L9-32m-8,'58(5876s4)444 


1158  01190  1708 


PS 

3505 

C43715t 


